Like the title says, today I realized that I'm going to be one of those hysterical moms that puts their kid in a bubble because he ate some ants and sneezed or something.
I've mentioned in a previous post about my wonderful cat, Charles who loves to rampage and be silly and make ridiculous eyes at me.
Well today I was in class doing my student thing and I get a text from one of my three roommates that read:
Holly: Charlie just puked on the couch. What should I do?
This was followed about 30 minutes later (I didn't see the first text until about 5 minutes before this text):
Holly: He's puked a few times now.
I don't remember the last ten minutes of that class because all that was going through my head was, "OH GOD MY CAT'S GOING TO DIE WHILE I'M IN CLASS HE CAN'T DIE THAT WAY WHY CAN'T I THINK OF A SNEAKY WAY OUT OF THIS CLASS?!?!?!?!"
The teacher released us and I instantly was out the door. I may have teleported—I was that intent on getting to my car. I like to imagine that if that moment in my life had a soundtrack it'd be like the score to Rambo or Inception. Because I was a lady on a mission.
You know how when you're in a rush to get somewhere because it's incredibly important EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY feels compelled to get in your way? That was me on the way to my car and, once in my car, on the drive home. People everywhere were like, "I don't know about you but I have GOT to get in front of that black Toyota."
When I finally got home, Charlie was locked up in the bathroom. What had happened was:
CHARLIE: BAAAAAARF EVERYWHERE! BUT ESPECIALLY THE COUCH!!!
HOLLY: UUUUUGH WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
[HOLLY grabs CHARLIE and tries to take him outside onto the balcony to throw up]
CHARLIE: HHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSS!!
HOLLY: AAAAAGGGGGHHHH!
[HOLLY puts CHARLIE in the bathroom with some water]
So here I am freaking out and Charlie's all, "Ooooo Momma, I love you and I feel great. I feel like I didn't just puke up everything I've eaten today!"
And I'm all, "I don't want to hear it, Charlie. I'm taking you to the vet!"
And my roommates are just like, "Kat...he's obviously fine. He probably just ate the other cat's food and blah blah blah reason reason reason."
But I wouldn't have it because I've somehow got it in my head that Charlie won't make it another day if he doesn't see the vet. So I load him up in his cat carrier and we drive 30 minutes across town to see Charlie's vet, Dr. Skupin.
The whole ride basically consisted of Charlie staring at me and trying to convey the feeling of, "You have betrayed me. Why would you do this?" and "Are you taking me to the pound for throwing up?"
Exactly those emotions. It was pitiful.
When we got to the vet, Dr. Skupin basically was all, "He's freaking fine. He ate the other cat's food but I'll give him an anti-nausea shot and we'll call it a day."
And I'm like, "BUT HE'S THROWN UP SO MUCH!"
So yeah. That's what happens when I have a sick cat and I don't want to imagine a sick child that came from my loins. It's going to be like Godzilla...or like that scene in The Lost World: Jurassic Park where the stegosaurus parents attack Sarah for daring to go near their baby.
Yeeeeah. Just like that.
