07:05 pm
Last night, Willy the Wonderkitty hacked up what I am calling The Mother of All Hairballs. It was huge. It was scary. It may have had a heartbeat. Since then, he has thrown up at least half-a-dozen times, and the last two have been (eep!) pink.
So, off to the vet we went, for another round of everyone's favorite game, Dodge the Claws, followed by x-rays and a diagnosis of "maybe it's an obstruction of some sort." Oooooookay.
Due to the fact that this was happening on a Saturday afternoon about 5 minutes before the vet's office closed, the next stop was the very helpful but ridiculously expensive emergency veterinary clinic on Belmont, where Doctor #2 opined that it may not, in fact, be an obstruction at all, but rather an irritation and accompanying swelling, and further tests were warranted. We'll know more later tonight.
Don't get me wrong here, I am worried about the health of my feline companion. If I weren't, I would have let him keep barfing up blood on the kitchen floor and gone merrily about my weekend. I just can't put out of my mind the fact that, by the time this is all through, I will have dropped a minimum of $800 in vet bills. And that's if he doesn't need an operation.
Oh, you thought you'd heard the last of my money-related whining? Dream on, Sparky. My formerly "under control" credit card debt has taken on a glamorous new life of it's own, a condition which will be exacerbated by the fact that, starting next month, I'm going to be making less each week. Time to find a second job, or maybe try to sell all the excess crap lying around my apartment. If all else fails, I'm ready to revisit Financial Plan B: Marry a Rich Old Geezer and Bump Him Off.
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