You Don't See Fat People in Rest Homes

That's what the vet said to me yesterday evening as I sought reassurance that Millie's recent weight loss and lack of apetite could be remedied by her skills and knowledge. Millie's old, and that's the way it is no matter what the prognosis turns out to be. I know this is true, because I visited a friend in a rest home just this past weekend. You don't see fat people. You do see sad people, angry people, confused people, overwhelmingly bewildered people and those with a clear sense of abandonment and desperation. There may have been a few accepting and content people there too, but I didn't see any on my visit. I left feeling helpless and sad. The same way I felt when I got home yesterday and faced the fact Millie isn't getting better on her own. It was a ghastly wet and rainy night, but I managed to get an appointment so off we set. We had to wait for a dog and two budgies to be seen. The vet was a lovely lady who understood Millie's high anxiety and didn't want to proceed with taking blood or a fuller physical examination until Millie could be sedated.

Waiting for the call.

I could drop her off today, and they would proceed with the tests under anesthetic  Leave her? On her own? I explained that Millie was a rescue cat, she had been abandoned in the past. She might think I wasn't coming back. Could I stay with her? Apparently no-one has ever requested this before, but they have been very understanding. They will ring just before they can fit her in and I will hold her paw, so to speak, until she is under the influence of the first anesthetic gas. She will be frightened, but she will not be alone and she will not have the look of abandonment I saw in my friend's eyes on Saturday. 

“The little furry buggers are just deep, deep wells you throw all your emotions into.” ~Bruce Schimmel