My poor Charlotte was not that enthusiastic about breakfast this morning, even though I augmented it with her beloved Gerber baby food. She also passed on two of her favorite morning rituals -- sitting beside me as I slather moisturizer on my legs and leaping into the armoire when I remove a shirt.
Still, she did eat, her eyes do follow me around the room and she's not hiding from Joey and Reynaldo. So she's not feeling as poorly as she did in February, when she was dangerously thin and dehydrated.
I wish she could just tell me what's up. I'll bundle her up and take her to the vet this weekend, if that's warranted. But she so hates going. Leaving the house, traveling by car, being handled by strangers ... it's such an anathema that it feels abusive to do it for my peace of mind, rather than her well being.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
ah...that poor little girl...sending her lots of
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Oh no--I hoped she was much better. Poor little Charlotte.
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