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Mr. Burns, my beloved feline supervisor and distinguished resting bitchface overlord, is sick.
When I made it to bed last night after ritual, Burnsie came in, acting weird. I thought at first that he was just being pissy because I was out in the yard all day; he doesn't like it when I'm outside and he can't be. Given covid and stupid people, Burns & Pouf have been on lockdown with me since March. Then I noticed other anomalous behavior, and diagnosed it down to incontinence as the major visible symptom. He laid on me for over an hour. He *never* does that. And he's crying a helluva lot, which he also does not ever do. He's not moving around well at all. He has that funny sick animal smell on him, too. He threw up dinner, and sat in the litterbox for so long that I thought he was pooping, but he wasn't. He was trying to pee but couldn't.
The vet says it's a bladder infection with a blocked urethra due to crystals or stones. Had I waited until tomorrow, he would likely have died. I can't even.
They wanna keep him for 48-72 hours. He needs meds, drugs, a catheter, sonogram, bloodwork, observation, fluids. The estimate is $2730.12 - 3700.00. Which I can't afford, even on a credit card. I authorized a 24 hour stay, because even if they *can* get him unblocked, if he came home tonight he'd likely re-block, and we'd hafta start all over, virtually doubling the expense and recovery time. Subcutaneous fluids I can do at home. Catheter maintenance and the meds he needs, I can't do at home. The low-end estimate for a 24 hour stay is $1900.00. And those numbers are *after* a discount they were able to wrangle for me. He should stay for 2-3 days minimum. For just under four thousand dollars. Yup, I said $4000.00. My cat cost more than my car. Being poor is expensive.
I feel like I'm being told that, because I'm poor (which is in large part due to the fact that I'm disabled with a degenerative condition), I don't deserve to have the "luxury" of a fourfoot companion. He's just this side of a service animal; my 2 cats are a H U G E part of what's getting me through these isolating, frightening, uncertain times. They are medicine to me, a balm to spirit and soul. Why do you think so many displaced, un-homed humans have fourfoots? Why does being poor equal a moral failing so intense that one can't be permitted to keep the company of a purring life support system? Or am I unworthy and undeserving of basic dignity and respect because I'm disabled? Or maybe it's both? Burnsie is only 7 years old. I dunno how I will expand enough to accommodate another death right now. All I know is that I must breathe, trust, find creative ways to pay the vet bill, and lean into fundamental abundance and love as hard as I can. That will be made much easier, with your kind help.
I know you're strapped too, most likely, but every little bit adds up. Together we can do more than any one of us can do alone. And it's more than a vet bill; any contribution on your part will also serve to reinforce my belief, that that I'm not the worthless, undeserving, broken old queer the system tries to tell me I am. That's some really good medicine, right there. Even in crisis, there's space for a win like that. I'll update tomorrow, when I find out if a 24 hour stay is sufficient to prevent his death. Please, hope that with me.
Please consider donating what you can. Go hug someone you love, please, no matter how many feet (or dollars) they have or don't have.
When I made it to bed last night after ritual, Burnsie came in, acting weird. I thought at first that he was just being pissy because I was out in the yard all day; he doesn't like it when I'm outside and he can't be. Given covid and stupid people, Burns & Pouf have been on lockdown with me since March. Then I noticed other anomalous behavior, and diagnosed it down to incontinence as the major visible symptom. He laid on me for over an hour. He *never* does that. And he's crying a helluva lot, which he also does not ever do. He's not moving around well at all. He has that funny sick animal smell on him, too. He threw up dinner, and sat in the litterbox for so long that I thought he was pooping, but he wasn't. He was trying to pee but couldn't.
The vet says it's a bladder infection with a blocked urethra due to crystals or stones. Had I waited until tomorrow, he would likely have died. I can't even.
They wanna keep him for 48-72 hours. He needs meds, drugs, a catheter, sonogram, bloodwork, observation, fluids. The estimate is $2730.12 - 3700.00. Which I can't afford, even on a credit card. I authorized a 24 hour stay, because even if they *can* get him unblocked, if he came home tonight he'd likely re-block, and we'd hafta start all over, virtually doubling the expense and recovery time. Subcutaneous fluids I can do at home. Catheter maintenance and the meds he needs, I can't do at home. The low-end estimate for a 24 hour stay is $1900.00. And those numbers are *after* a discount they were able to wrangle for me. He should stay for 2-3 days minimum. For just under four thousand dollars. Yup, I said $4000.00. My cat cost more than my car. Being poor is expensive.
I feel like I'm being told that, because I'm poor (which is in large part due to the fact that I'm disabled with a degenerative condition), I don't deserve to have the "luxury" of a fourfoot companion. He's just this side of a service animal; my 2 cats are a H U G E part of what's getting me through these isolating, frightening, uncertain times. They are medicine to me, a balm to spirit and soul. Why do you think so many displaced, un-homed humans have fourfoots? Why does being poor equal a moral failing so intense that one can't be permitted to keep the company of a purring life support system? Or am I unworthy and undeserving of basic dignity and respect because I'm disabled? Or maybe it's both? Burnsie is only 7 years old. I dunno how I will expand enough to accommodate another death right now. All I know is that I must breathe, trust, find creative ways to pay the vet bill, and lean into fundamental abundance and love as hard as I can. That will be made much easier, with your kind help.
I know you're strapped too, most likely, but every little bit adds up. Together we can do more than any one of us can do alone. And it's more than a vet bill; any contribution on your part will also serve to reinforce my belief, that that I'm not the worthless, undeserving, broken old queer the system tries to tell me I am. That's some really good medicine, right there. Even in crisis, there's space for a win like that. I'll update tomorrow, when I find out if a 24 hour stay is sufficient to prevent his death. Please, hope that with me.
Please consider donating what you can. Go hug someone you love, please, no matter how many feet (or dollars) they have or don't have.