Greetings from Nightmare Alley

I'm not going to bury the lead here: I believe my cat, Roy Hobbs, is going to be OK. But I wish we weren't where we are, and it's causing me considerable stress.

He had dental work Wednesday morning. Two teeth were pulled. Because he is younger and stronger than my Connie Cat, and because she had nine (9!) teeth pulled a couple months ago, I thought his recovery would be easier than hers. I was wrong. Here it is, Thursday evening, and he's still not fine. No interest in food. His balance compromised.

I spoke to the vet tech this morning in a regularly-scheduled follow up call. She said that, since he's social and affectionate, he's probably just slower to recover from anesthesia and the trauma of being hospitalized. If he hasn't improved by tomorrow night, I'm bringing him in on Saturday as an emergency.

All I've done yesterday and today is look at him. I'm exhausted. I take naps but my sleep is fitful. I've been having nightmares, which is why, when I wake up, I don't feel refreshed. 

I don't remember much of the nightmares except that they aren't violent. Just frustrating. I recall bits and pieces of one where someone whose help I need claims not to know me. In another one, I'm squabbling with someone.

I know what's going on. I feel inadequate to provide Roy Hobbs with wise and deft care as he recovers. If I can't hide his meds in his food, I have to jam the pills down his gullet, which upsets him even more, but he won't heal without those prescriptions. I feel like someone else would have better judgement and a surer hand. I'm afraid I'm failing him.

I understand intellectually that I'm probably doing him no harm. If he was in severe pain or seriously struggling, he would hide from me and Connie. He's so happy to be home that he's been purring almost nonstop, enjoys me talking to/petting him, and lets Connie groom him. He's drinking, if not eating. All that is good and important.

But I'm impatient. I want him to be well. I want to do better by him.