"Go away!"

She may not have actually said it but I know what she's thinking. After an hour and a half at the vet ms. Harley clearly had enough of being poked, prodded (by the vet) and hysterically petted (by me). And then I had to squish antibiotics in her mouth.

I came home around 3 with a memory card full of beautiful cloudy landscapes and found a very, very sick cat.
Almost $200 that we don't have later our best hope is that she has a pneumonia and not an enlarged heart/tumor or a neurological problem.
"Well, that's the last time we've taken in a stray!" I said faux-chipper to our vet who is lovely and warned me that saying things like that will likely cause another stray to show up.
*sigh*
I don't "do" sick cats very well. Hence the hysterical petting part. I get so upset at the thought of them dying, even if there is no indication whatsoever that that's case, that I usually cry my way over there and back. Which is why the Beloved is usually on vet duty. Unfortunately, he's working late shifts so it had to be me.
But I did it. And I survived*.
Now if Harley can do the same, that would be AWESOME.




*props to my friend Phyllis who was my taxi and moral support and without whom my survival would have been doubtful.