So yeah, I'm still alive. Spike had a visit to the emergency vet last night, and I am about a gallon short on sleep. Longwinded version below. I will extract a few highlights on Mastodon (@thatdawnperson@toot.cat) later today when I'm less wiped out.

Spike Spiegel, an orange and white DSH born in a barn 11 years ago, is on the mend. The cat does not die or become tragically ill at this time.

There are many goings on at Sanctuary, home to me and S and cats Spike and Greg (18 months). Yesterday morning, the humans made an expedition to a suburban Ikea store for research purposes. Unlike many Saturday mornings, the cats were unsupervised for about four hours after breakfast. We got home in the early afternoon and all was well within parameters.

A few days ago, Greg had tagged Spike while frolicking. This happens sometimes, and the wound we had noted was not a concern beyond normal vigilance. We keep an eye on physical state, inputs, outputs, and behaviours routinely because that’s part of pets in the family.

We usually check both cats’ front claws regularly to keep damage to a minimum. We have 3 cat trees, all well used by both for stropping and play. Checking and trimming Greg’s claws was on our list of this weekend’s to dos.

About half an hour into watching a movie yesterday evening, I didn’t notice anything odd but S did. Spike was in the top cat hammock, a ceiling-level place where he likes to chill. He suddenly shook his head, and dashed off to a different one of his regular haunts, a windowsill that gets excellent sunlight. S went to investigate and we stopped the movie. Greg noticed something was happening and trotted along to make sure she was involved. S indicated there was a concern with Spike’s eye.

Spike ran back into the room after the brief examination. He hid in the circular cat tunnel that sits on the floor behind where we had been watching the movie. Greg wanted to interact but I waved her off. I kept an eye on the hiding spot where Spike had hunkered down. If we needed to check him out further or bundle him into a carrier for transport, it would be much easier to do that from here than wherever he might dash to next. Spike’s eye had a concerning discharge and the surrounding skin appeared red and a little swollen.

Eye infections can get bad very quickly, so we agreed to divert all energy to getting medical care for our suddenly unhappy cat. I looked up the affiliated emergency clinics from our regular vet’s web site. The closest is about 1km away. S called them and described the situation and symptoms. Bring him in, expect a minimum fee and a few hours waiting time. Emergency clinics are busier on late weekend evenings, whoever they’re treating.

I wrangled Spike into the carrier as gently as I could while Greg wanted to help and S looked for an available vehicle. Weekend evening: of course there were none. We took turns carrying and speaking softly to Spike on the walk down. Aside from the usual piteous cries when starting a trip to the vet and using the elevator, he was quietly interested in the passing scenery. The air was heavy with humidity and some particulate matter.

I was still unable to deal with speaking to strangers, so the burden of registering fell to S. I added details where I thought them relevant, but mostly just settled in to a chair to wait with as little movement as possible, Spike in the soft-sided carrier with a good view around him on my lap.

The waiting room was empty of people, though it didn’t remain so. In addition to black plastic chairs fixed in place, there was snack vending machine, a coffee station, a bathroom, a poster summarizing clinic policy, a fish tank built into one wall, a TV showing CP24 news, and a TV showing a “pet TV” video loop of facts, trivia, tips, ads related to dogs and cats, and “meet our staff” pages. It was a comfort to have the light topical infotainment to draw focus away from anxiety, even the sixth and seventh time through.

A cat with a history of heart  problems came in. A dog who had eaten some string and not thrown all of it up.  A dog who had landed badly from a jump. Others, each with a problem they’d go to the vet for if their regular clinic were open. A triage clinician spoke to each, not in order of arrival but based on the severity of the issue. Pet names were used throughout conversations. Pets were taken into the clinic area when it was their time to be seen. Humans went into the clinic only when called, generally briefly.

From time to time, a staff person brought a dog through the waiting room to outside for a short walk, then back in to the clinic. The dogs I saw mostly had leg bandages. One had what looked like hotter monitor patches. One had a cap tied around their head. One was carried out and back, with a second person wheeling a gas cylinder attached to the dog. That dog left a spot of blood on the floor, which someone came and mopped up after several minutes.

One blind person with a working dog and a human companion came out at one point, asking when they could go home. Something about not eaten since breakfast, when will we be allowed to leave. They had to wait, and eventually they left with meds and instructions. Other people paid their bills, received discharge information, and took their patient home.

S and I mostly put ourselves into standby mode. Some people used their phones. Some left and returned. After Spike was taken into the clinic for his examination, I pulled up my phone two or three times to work on a crossword puzzle. Metta/maitri was easier than distracting my mind: meditating benevolence to others and self.

All the staff were thoughtful, comfortably and practically dressed, empathetic, actively paying attention to the needs of human and quadruped clients. The cleaner only ran the vacuum in a space when it was empty of animals.

Not long after Spike was carried in, about as long as you’d spend for a well-cat checkup including the wait for the vet, his people were called in. It could be a wound to the eye or surrounding face, or a dental abscess (I need to get dental care going consistently). We answered questions, shared possible factors, and discussed the treatment plan the vet proposed.  Stain the eyeball to check for injury, 3 daily doses of NSAID for pain and swelling, a week of twice-daily antibiotic. Total bill would be ~$600, copy of their report to be sent to our vet.

I was a little confused when the carrier came out empty, but I took it. After about a full loop of Vet TV, someone came and took the carrier back in.

A small eternity later, while S took a walk around the block many times, I got the results with a paper bag containing Spike’s report and meds and paid the bill. No eyeball or eye injury, administer one syringe and 1.5 pills with food as prescribed. I texted S the info, though doubted they’d read the messages because it was past our bedtimes. S appeared at the door just as I was on the way to the exit with Spike. I wished the human whose cat was experiencing possible heart failure a good outcome.

I provided S the details just outside, Spike sitting in his carrier on a raised garden bed in front of us. We talked through the medication and food stuff, hemming and hawing on how to deal with a midnight first dose and 8am being the likely second dose. We started walking home, mostly S carrying Spike because I was too unsteady from fatigue. It would be good to wash the salt anxiety humidity sweat off.

Spike was a bit less actively engaged but still alert on the walk home. He didn’t yowl in the elevator, though he usually does. Walking up that one block of Church (heart of the gay village) near midnight on a Saturday night was not the best choice given the crowds but all arrived home without incident. That drag queen in the bar we passed was not my idea of a Swiftie but she was rocking her impressively muscular booty to something I recognized.

I put Spike’s carrier on the kitchen counter and monitored Greg’s curious interest while S got ready to administer his meds. I prepped the usual bedtime wet food (oh no! nothing but kibbles were left and few of those!) but did not put it down, to Greg’s quiet annoyance. I got the pills ready. S dealt with the troublesome bottle and syringe. Dose. Swallow. Dose. Swallow, no really swallow, okay I saw a gulp. Mouth is empty.

I didn’t have to encourage Greg away from the food. It was harder, though to keep her from getting her nose all up in Spike’s business with the unfamiliar scents he’d brought home. Fortunately, he ate a good portion (enough to satisfy, not so much as to risk vomiting) despite her persistent cat scan around his back, sides, and butt.

We trimmed Greg's claws. Dang those things get sharp, but it's quick to take care of.

Shower was a palpable relief. I washed about four times as much as usual. Did I fall asleep right away? I don’t remember. I woke up to stay awake 5 hours and 17 minutes later to start fetching water, feeding cats, cleaning, chores.

Spike has been more skittish than usual since coming home, understandably so. He's demanding more than double the usual attention and purring strongly. We’re doing our best to provide. This was going to be the weekend I rest up to get ready for my big medical adventure near the end of the month. Oh, and helping K move again before that, and preparing to hand over work deliverables, and and...

From each according to their ability, and get some gorram rest so we can keep on keeping on.