Blanch is resting comfortably in her bed beside my bed. She only had one episode of illness (I'm trying to be tactful) today and she's still taking medication for nausea, vomitting, and antibiotics. She is drinking a little water though and started that last night. Her daddy said she even ate a bite or two today. But she's not a ball of fire, that's for sure. She's content to just lay about with her blankie (an old towel) and constant attention.
Seriously, is this the same man who didn't want a dog at all? This thirteen pounds of fluff has done a trick with him!
I feel so badly for (and envy a bit) those people who don't get it when it comes to pets. My college roommate and one of my favorite people, Vally, doesn't get it. She was good to the cat we had in college, Mishka Nikita Minoge, Esq., but she never loved a pet. And I've got to say as pets go, Mishka was a difficult one to love. Totally nuts, that cat.
I feel badly that she doesn't feel the joy and unconditional love that seems to only happen with animals and one's own babies. I envy her because she'll never have the heartbreak that is unique to animal lovers.
I listen to true horror stories about people's lives for a living and I'm pretty tough. I'm compassionate, but I hold it together. That is unless someone has a sad pet story. Then all bets are off and I'm a mess. I don't understand it, that's just the way it is.
I know there's a bit more going on in the world than the tenuous health of one little ball of fur and love, but the past couple of days has been really painful for our little family. I thank you all for your words of concern.