Huh? Which? Because I was TOTALLY CONVINCED YOU WERE DYING THERE.

Cholangeohepatitis? Pancreatitis? Or the infamous FIP? You were doing so well, it seemed, and then so poorly – my heart just hurt every time I looked at you. Poor little thing, so tired and sick, I wondered whether it would be kinder to just let you go. The vets were no help, I mean, of COURSE they are in favor of treatment. Liver biopsy? Another ultrasound? I just didn’t have the money or the heart to put you through that again. But I’ve grown damn attached to you, Jake, and part of me was willing to do whatever it took to make sure you got well.

I was on the phone with a PET THERAPIST, JAKE. A pet therapist. At EIGHT-THIRTY in the morning. And I wept, oh yes. Sure did. And I wrote her a thank-you note. Via email. But someday I’ll write her a real one. But today I want to write notes to our vet and the lab tech and the girls in the pharmacy and everyone behind the cashier’s desk (except that one chick who double-charged us for your meds) because YOUR LIVER LEVELS ARE GETTING BETTER, Jake, and I am SO happy!

Like, freaking two thousand dollars later.

JAKE.