This story has a happy ending but if you're squeamish in a way that makes you not like reading about cats being sick I suggest you give it a miss!
We have three cats, which is at least one too many for one household, but is at least an advance of sorts on last year when we had four. There are good historical reasons for us having more cats in the house than humans, but I doubt they're of great interest to anyone but us. Or even us, really. So I shan't bother rehearsing them here.
What I will say is that OH has been twitchy about the cats ever since we had to have poor little Flossie put to sleep last December. He is forever worrying that they are too sleepy/not sleepy enough/drinking too much/ not drinking enough etc etc.
Recently his anxieties have focussed on Domingo, so christened by us when he took up residence* because we had never seen a gentler, less fussy cat in our lives. He was really placid, hence [Placido] Domingo. Since coming to Orkney though good old Mr Placid has a) taken to spending a lot of time outdoors b) defending his territory against all comers [not quite so placid as all that in the event then] and c) catching and eating a lot of rodents, some of which he can digest and some of which he can't.
*all of our cats, bar the one we got from the Orkney Cats Protection branch, have just appeared and taken up residence. We do not go round looking for cats, although I suspect that some cats go round looking for suckers, and find us.
This morning he started making a lot of noise. Loud single yowls of pain and distress. Not like him. Of course I then had to listen to OH re-hashing all the stuff about how Domingo hadn't been out much the week before last, and hadn't been eating much last week, which I largely ignored, not because I am in the habit of ignoring OH that much, but simply because, as I say, he does stress about them overly much these days.
I did however have a look and a listen and was sufficiently concerned myself to let him ring up the vet and ask them to squeeze us in this morning. About half way to Kirkwall there were some very loud and distressing noises from the back seat coupled with an overwhelming smell of cat vomit, and I was quite pleased to be dropped off in town to go to the bank. By the time I got out of there - Friday morning queue with two cashiers busy with customers who had apparently insoluble problems - and into the vets, all was well. The cat had indeed sicked up what the vet confidently asserted was the cause of the trouble. It was apparently unidentifiable but 'had had an awful lot of fur'. She had given him an anti emetic and steroid which should stop him being sick and make him feel much better, and the old jumper that had been lining the cat carrier was now safely deposited in her hazardous waste bin.
He seems fine now, just a bit sleepy. He'd probably have got over whatever it was at home in time which would have saved us a Vets Bill. On the other hand he would probably have been sick on our light coloured living room carpet which wouldn't have been funny. Or indeed, cheaper to have cleaned than paying the vet was.
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