Preoccupied

I had to take one of our beloved cats to the veterinarians today. Oliver. Our wonderful Oliver. Now in his fourteenth year. A constant companion. A wonderful black and white cat that we homed from a rescue almost thirteen years ago. A gentle soul who loves to 'hide' beneath the jasmine, who 'chatters' at birds in the garden but has never harmed one. He wouldn't. He lies next to me now as I type this post. I will keep him safe as long as it takes.

Oliver has been losing weight. Two weeks ago he weighed just 3.69kg. Today, at the vets, he weighed 3.61kg. A loss of 80gms. "That's less than a sachet of food" I told myself. Our veterinarian, Matt, palpitated Oliver's abdomen, looking for a 'lump' that our other vet, Paul, reckoned he could feel two weeks ago. Matt was not convinced. But Oliver has been suffering with diarrhoea for two weeks, on and off, and I have noticed some blood in his motions....

We steered Matt away from a full CT scan. I didn't want Oliver subjected to the rigours of full anaesthesia. But we agreed to a full geriatric blood screen. Our lad had to have both sides of his neck shaved to obtain sufficient blood for the tests.

This is when, as an animal lover, as someone whose pet is helpless, who relies totally on you, this is when your bottom lip gives way. Ros and I have shared our lives with cats for forty years. We have experienced the heartache of losing treasured family members too often. That feeling of loss never changes.

I look at Oliver now as he lies beside me, on the table... and I well up. I cannot stop thinking about the 'phone call' I will get tomorrow from Matt with the blood test results. I don't want to hear anything sinister...

I just love Oliver too much.