I’ve been a bit distracted of late. My poor Hubby Bear got pneumonia. He’s been as sick as a dog for a week and I half. Last week I was afraid he was going to croak in his sleep so I had to get his mother to talk him into going to the doctor. I knew something was gravely wrong when he didn’t eat for 2 days. My husband may be late for many things but not for a meal.
He’s the main cook in the house so I’ve been hard pressed to come up with things to temp him. I used to know how to cook many moons ago, it just sort of went away somewhere after the kids grew up and moved on. The poor guy has been living on chicken noodle soap and canned ravioli. I feel a little guilty about it, but even if I enrolled in a cooking class tomorrow morning it wouldn’t help in the meantime.
I’m getting a feeling of what it feels like to be on the well side of the equation also. I was under the weather quite a bit back in January and he was driving me crazy worrying about me, trying to force feed me and asking me if I was OK every 5 minutes. Now I know how scared he was.
When couples are in their 20s or 30s or even 40s getting sick is not fun, but there is still that feeling of immortality. The ole’ “it won’t happen to me…or us.” Suddenly, it takes on a whole new dimension when you’re pushing 60. It occurs to you that maybe this is the big one. I’m trying not to turn into a hysterical hypochondriac, but I think maybe the Hubman and I need to take better care of ourselves.
Yes, indeed our beloved feline has pneumonia. I didn’t even realize that could happen to cats. This poor kitty picked his parents well when he adopted us. He has been the most high maintenance cat I’ve ever had. My sneaking suspicion it is because he’s male. I never had these problems with female cats. Oh, just kidding…well no I’m not, actually. Human males can be a bit high maintenance as well, in my experience.
In retrospect, Mr. Kitty had been trying to tell us he’s not ok with bizarre behaviors; inappropriate urination – on the stove, my shoe, a pile of laundry, hacking up unmentionable ectoplasm all over the house, pawing at us and then running to hide. But when he started gasping for breath we finally figured out he was in crisis and rushed him to the vet.
So now we have a kitty with pneumonia and have to give him medicine twice a day and hope for the best. Giving a cat medicine is no easy task. Of course it doesn’t take him long to figure out our nefarious plan and hides. Then it falls to me to drag him yowling, hissing and scratching out of whatever his hidey hole du’ jour is. We wrap him up in a bath towel like a burrito, so he can’t claw us to shreds, and then give him a dropper full of antibiotic and an anti-congestion pill. He of course struggles, growls, tries to get loose from his towel straight jacket and in general acts like we are skinning him alive for sport.
Just like a child, Kitty doesn’t understand that all these horrible things we are doing to him are for his own good. It reminds me of a sister when she was a kid. She fought like a banshee every single time she needed to take meds. She never did figure out that it was inevitable. She absolutely would not take medicine without a fight. It took 5 of us to hold her down. One sibling to each arm and leg, and one kid to hold her nose long enough for her to open her mouth so my Mom could pop in the medication. It’s sort of ironic really, because she’s swung to the opposite extreme in her adulthood and will take anything she can get her hands on.