I first noticed blood in the urine a few days ago. Then for a second time, yesterday. I knew I couldn’t ignore it.
I’d been chastising both cats for weeks, not to use the litter tray as a lazy toilet option. I know it’s getting colder and wet grass on the tail can’t be nice, but please, I implore you, go to the toilet in the garden. Like you did all summer.
Yet now, I’m glad they used the litter tray. Otherwise I would not have seen the blood. My perspective softened, the emergency suddenly clear.
Having sent over a few photos, the village vet found space for an emergency appointment just before closing time. Something else I’m now very grateful for.
In the waiting room, I kept thinking about all the times I’d been too busy to sit with her, or play with the fake mouse. I could have cried, but I didn’t.
Within 30 minutes, blood had been taken, medicine prescribed and an emergency hospital visit avoided. Our cat, Trixie, was returning home today. Sicker than her happy temperament portrayed, but not as grave as I first feared. We stood a fighting chance.
Children in fancy dress for Halloween, soft meows coming from the carry box, we drove home through the dark back streets together. I felt grateful for the kindness and mercy we’d received, and grateful for having another chance.
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