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Rey upon his return Monday afternoon
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I admit it: I was never going to attend my niece's wedding celebration next month. I went to her wedding last October -- an intimate affair in her in-laws' backyard. Seeing her happy and content meant a great deal to me. The guest list was covid-short, and I was touched that she wanted me there.
The celebration next month will be the wedding reception she long planned. I'm happy she finally gets to realize it. I also know that, with (I believe) 150 people, I wouldn't get to see as much of her. She'll be partying with her friends, dancing to the DJ.
And, frankly, I can't bear the thought of both of my sisters in the same room. Even a really BIG room. They don't like me, I don't like them and they only sporadically like one another. I don't need this agita.
So I told my niece a plausible lie: I couldn't afford to go because I had to help my oldest friend financially. First, my niece knows my oldest friend. When my niece was still in high school, she helped my oldest friend around the house for money. My niece understands how important my oldest friend is to me. Second, my oldest friend's life has been one crisis after another for the last decade, so what's not to believe?
Then fate intervened and made the lie true. Now I can't afford to go.
Reynaldo needs to see a kitty cardiologist. Who knew such a thing existed? We had a very bad weekend, and I was prepared on Monday for him to rendezvous with the vet's green needle. I carried his limp, skinny body around and took him from room to room, telling him stories of mischief he'd made. I let him amble down the common hallway he used to run. I snuggled him and told him I would miss the way he squawked at me, bossed me around and tormented me. I reminded him that I have always loved him since that snowy evening we met at the animal shelter in November 2004.
We got to the vet who felt that, even though Rey is sick, it's not his time yet. Sure, he suffers from glaucoma, chronic thyroid and kidney disease, and arthritis and now a heart murmur, but his lungs sounded good and his gastrointestinal tract is OK and he was alert. Tired, but alert.
He was dosed with intravenous fluids and given an appetite stimulant and we came back home with a referral to a cardiologist. Rey may have a good year or two left, after all.
He started showing improvement as soon as we got back home. This morning he woke me up, complaining about his empty food dish. (And Saturday and Sunday, I couldn't get him to eat!) He's back to knocking shit over to get my attention. My dictatorial little monster is back!
But now I've got to get him to a specialist to maintain this.
Now my niece understands my attachment to Rey. He's been my cat since she was in middle school. She and her bridegroom are also very committed to their own cats. She is 100% on board with me putting his welfare over her second ceremony.
"After all," she keeps reminding me, "You saw the real wedding!"