Willow has been quiet for a few days and has not been able to recover from her lackus-positionous. i.e sitting on one spot for 3 days.
I feel that she has a fever but I cannot be sure, she also has not been eating.
I take her to the vet; her first visit was traumatic. The vet reports that her temperature is “sky high”. She tells me that Willow may not recover and that it could be very serious with such a high fever. I begin to cry as she runs off the possibilities. My little Willow has suffered many illnesses in her short four years, coming close to death early on when she caught an infection from cat flu.
That was a very difficult period for me, I was always worried and we had to force feed her and when she was strong enough to eat, we started her on baby food.
It is difficult to imagine the consequences of one seemingly inconsequential event, but willow has suffered a lot since; one symptom of this is her slim figure, which I constantly wish she would swap for mine. She has always had difficulty holding her food down and vomits regularly, sometimes, she is able to get over it by herself, other times like now she has to go for numerous injections.
Willow gets a number of treatments, including something to help with her fever, and to bring back her appetite. I am forced to torture my cat more by forcing medicine into her mouth.
The first time is hard and I end up with one small scratch, while my granddad helps me hold her down with welding gloves.
The next time is harder, with three of us holding a tiny cat down.
I return to the vet and report that she is doing much better. Her temperature is down; let’s hope it stays that way. The vet gives her some more medicine. Willow’s, incessant mewling in the car has stopped as she seems more exhausted than anything else.
The next dose of medicine ends me up with a few more scratches, but at least she is beginning to act like herself.
Day three at the vet and I report that she vomited up her food from the day before. Her temperature is still down however, so it seems
to be going well.
Night three attempting to drive the medicinal gunk down her throat and I end up with a gash in my right palm; luckily I have tea tree oil at hand to keep me disinfected.
Last day at the vet and Willow is lively and back to her old self again. She gets her last injection from the vet and with the news that her temperature is still down and that she is in fact looking good, I am at once relieved, and then instantly brought back to reality when I realise how expensive the vet has become.
In the car my granddad comments that in his next life he should be a vet.
Willow receives her last dose of medication with one horrible mewl, but no extra scratches later. In an hour I am forgiven and she wants a cuddle and I give in because my kitty is alright.
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