So for the past four days George has not eaten much at all. I figured I'd give him time to recover after the Day of Endless Puking, but he's not bounced back. I went to my pet-supply store where the outrageous Richard stocked me up with cans to to try ("For free- you just have to tell us how they work - they're new.")
Nope. Nothing. Not a bite. My rabbit vet called last evening to give me the final results of Amie's bloodwork, and we chatted for a bit - she was staying at the clinic with a dog who'd had a foreign body removed from its stomach, so she was there alone.
I mentioned George's condition, and she told me to bring him in today. She would not be in, but she thought he should be seen soon. Now that I'd moved north, I'd been meaning to bring the cats to the vet my rabbits also see, and this seems like the time. So we're about to head to Wilmette to see why George won't eat. It's frustrating - he's clearly interested in the idea of food, but when it's put down he just sniffs and then walks away. Then he lays on the couch and stares at me, his eyes made more huge by his diminishing bulk.
And this is why I can't pay down my credit card - I'm at the vet it seems like every freaking week. A friend described her frustration at caring for a chronically ill pet.
"I love him," she said, "but there are days when I just want to say 'either get better, or die.'"
I adore my pets, but yes, there are times when the juggling work, money, and vet trips gets overwhelming. I want just three good months with no tests, no sickness. Please.