A picture of Bo taken last Christmas. He was a proud and happy cat that day.
He started being a little sick a few days ago. We thought perhaps it was the ever popular hairball. We thought it would go away.
Yesterday afternoon, however, it became clear that it wasn't going away. It was, in fact, getting worse. Much worse. We went to bed last night knowing our kitty was pretty sick. This morning, we couldn't find him for quite a while. Eventually we discovered him hiding under the extra refrigerator downstairs. His eyes looked sunken, his nose was messy, he was ungroomed and ill kempt and listless. We phoned the vet right away.
A good bit of time today, time that was intended for last minute baking, was spent supporting Bodacious, taking him to the vet, and treating him. Far from a hairball, Bo has pancreatitis. "Many cats recover," said the vet cautiously. She gave him some subcutaneous hydration, a shot of antibiotic, a pain medication. She provided three drugs for us to bring home. He's in a sort of a nest in the kitchen now, the warmest room in the house. And a little while ago Joe got him to eat a little catfood from his finger. He doesn't look quite as bad. It is touch and go. Probably by Wednesday or Thursday we'll know if he's going to make it.
Somehow the last minute baking doesn't seem so important. We're leaving in a few minutes for church, where our prayers will include this little member of our household, who seems littler than before.
Bless the Beasts and the Children.