Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Just back from taking Taz to the vet

And I realize I've become that person.

You know the one... the one who would do anything and spend any money to keep their pet alive.

When I was in college I was in class with a woman who had taken the week off school. Her dog had died after being diagnosed with cancer and had been on chemo for nearly a year. This was before I had a pet myself and my eyes were rolling back in my head so much that I probably looked like I was having a stroke. A week off school? Chemo? For a pet? Give me strength.

Now I'm faced with a cat with thyroid issues. And what does he need? Medication for the rest of his life. Thankfully he's 17 so that may not be long, but still. I ponied up the $120 for 3 months of his medication without even blinking an eye. See? That person.

That stupid furry idiot is part of this family. In fact, Audrey and Henry have never been without him. If anyone else in this house would have needed meds, I'd have done the exact same thing. So that's my lot in life. It isn't enough that I'm the indentured servant to a 5 pound ball of fuzz whose greatest accomplishment in his day is finding the perfect sleeping spot in the sunshine (usually on the stairs), I'm humiliatingly devoted to him and his wonky thyroid.

So say hello to that person. The kind of person who refers to her children as the cat's siblings, and once told her father much to his horror that "his grandkitty is sick". What do I care. He's made of fur and awesome. And a metric ton of felimazole.


Looka dat face!

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