Sunday already?

First, an update on young Simon:

The first few days home from the hospital were pretty good, though he had some unusual initial responses to the Prednisone (to which his good friend and secondary caregiver V can attest). The vet said not to worry about his odd new habit of falling asleep with his head held up, little chin pointing toward the ceiling, as long as he was eating and such. OK, said I. But then for the next two days he threw up once a night, and then stopped eating again (well, everything but Whiskas treats, which apparently are laced with crack).

He became lethargic Friday, so I took him back to the hospital. He weighed a mere 8.6 pounds, and his spleen was still enlarged, but his anemia had improved even more (hematocrit 29 --woot!). After drawing more blood for a more detailed analysis and giving him some subcutaneous fluids, they sent us home with yet another drug, Reglan, the first dose of which he received intravenously. The vet suspects his pancreatitis is making him nauseated, thus ruining his appetite.

For those of you keeping score, this brings the number of drugs Kate Moss Kitty must take to five. Yes, five -- twice daily. If you've ever had to give pills to a cat, you feel my pain here. At first, when he was frail, administering these pills was fairly easy, but now that he has his strength back -- strength that I swear the kitty steroid has augmented -- pilling him is an exhausting game of wrestling/fool-the-kitty-into-thinking-it's-safe-to-return-
to-the-living-room.

What's more, because he's lost so much weight, he's now slim enough to fit under the sofa, which has become his favorite place of refuge. At first I could stir up his food a little to lure him out of hiding, but he's gotten wise to me. So now I've discovered the best tactic is to sneak up on him while he lounges on the sofa. It's a lot easier to approach him and pry open his jaws when he's relaxed.

It appears that the Reglan is working, and I think I've found his favorite food: Fancy Feast's Chicken Feast in Gravy (with marinated morsels!). I'm glad he responds well to this stuff, for the Science Diet I'd been feeding him smells revolting, and in an apartment as small as mine, smelly cat food seems even smellier.

For now, it appears my life must revolve largely around Sgt. Def Nip, but I don't mind so much. I don't even mind too much the $3,000 his care has cost me so far. Seeing him eat heartily and act more or less like his old self is worth it.

And, now that I've sufficiently recovered my sense of humor, I will admit the likeness between me and a certain character from The Office.