Monday, September 22, 2014


My poor Chickie is not doing extremely well. O, he still constantly begs for food, especially, if its not the stuff that, we usually feed him and Sylvie. Everytime before I fed Goldie, I would make sure to give a few morsels of her food to my cats, otherwise they try to get out on the porch to grab the food from her. Now that bag is finished! The cat-angels intervened, though, and sent Goldie some more sustenance. An acquaintance just lost her cat, Tigger, to sickness, and she brought all of his remaining cans of Friskies, as well as a scratcher pad and some other things, to me. So, since we want to keep giving our cats the food which wouldn't make them sick, as the supermarket bought products used to do, Goldie-the--stray gets to eat Friskies!
The effect on Chickie is devastating! I don't want to start doling out canned mush to all three cats, but that's what he wants! Both, he and Sylvie, await the moment when I open the refrigerator (an opened can of Friskies is there), and start milling around my legs, crying and complaining miserably about the unfairness that they suffer.
Most of the other time, when he is not teasing Sylvie, Chickie lies down with a pained, tired expression on his face. 
                   Remember how we took him to the vet about a month ago to get a piece of chicken bone out of his jaw? That was when we first found out that, he has a heart murmur.                                                               
Here he was, hiding behind my back, mournfully hugging my purse in fright!
The doctor told us to bring him for a an x-ray, to determine the cause of the problem. That visit cost us almost $300, and I was hesitating to spend the same amount on x-ray. Is it too cold-blooded, do you think, to treat our beloved pet that way? I don't know. I do feel bad about it, but money is really short right now!
Because that question was weighing heavily on my conscience, today I decided to bring Chikie for that procedure. We loaded him into a pet carrier (he escaped from it once and galloped away in panic). Sonny caught him, and off we went, listening to Chickie's familiar protests. Its amazing, how long that little throat of his can keep on meowing! Those  meows tore at our hearts with every desperate note! People, who stopped next to us at the street light, looked at me accusingly, like: "Is someone torturing that cat?!"

The clinic told us to just leave Chickie with them, until they finish taking pictures of him and call us. It took more than three hours for them to, finally, get to him. We all (Sonny, Roberta, and myself) got in the car again and drove to the clinic. Chickie was glad to see us. His meows in the car sounded completely different! Now, in very piteous tones, he was telling us of his ordeal. Sonny let him out of the pet carrier, and Chickie made himself comfortable in Sonny's arms, until he decided to go back to his apartment - the pet carrier again.

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