LOST: My happy place

I am not a happy camper right now. Not in the least bit. I’ve been avoiding posting about this since there’ve been far too many cat-related entries of late but what’s a blog for if not self-centered whining, grousing and complaining? Plus I’m kinda fed up this morning.

As previously mentioned, Moira has not been well. There was rumor of putting her on Prednisone, then without much warning I received a call from a compounding pharmacist telling me to come pick it up and, oh, could we have your credit card number since we don’t do this sort of thing for free? Yeah, well, I guess Mo’s now on another med. It would have been nice if a vet had spoken to me about it, but whatever. I suspected it was coming.

Something else no one bothered to tell me is that Prednisone would make Moira eat and drink more. Drink more? Pee more. That makes sense, right? Right. What the vet didn’t consider is that perhaps frequently filling the bladder of an arthritic feline is not a good idea. The other day through no fault of her own Moira wet the bed. Multiple times. She just couldn’t move fast enough.

My far-from-cheap bed? Ruined. My house? Reeks (more so since we’re in the middle of a 3-digit heat wave). Moira’s breathing? Not improved from a week on Prednisone (she’s coming off it, dammit). Me? Tired and stiff from having to spend nights on my very uncomfortable antique couch. There’s nowhere to put the ruined bed right now so it has to stay in the house until I can schedule a bulky trash pickup. Until that happens I can’t go to Ikea and get a not-freakishly-expensive new one. All this adds up to another week on the couch with a smelly bed in the back room. Joy.

My happy place. I needs one.