Psst.

I've been sitting on this for months and months and months, and now, finally, I can show you something totally bitchin' that you really want to see. I mean, assuming you like things that are awesome, that is, and that you include FEED on that list.

Go ahead. Take a peek.

( Cut-tagged for the protection of your friends' list, which really doesn't need something this huge suddenly showing up without warning. But trust me, you should totally click.Collapse )

Friday evening, Alice started looking a little ill. She was listless, unresponsive, and not interested in treats, although she did drink the juice from my can of tuna willingly enough (one of her favorite things). I consulted with a few people whose opinions I trust, and decided to monitor her condition before taking her to the vet, as no one wants to deal with the emergency vet when they don't have to. Saturday, she seemed better, although still droopy, and I thought she was recovering.

Sunday evening she took a turn for the worse, dramatic enough that I called my vet the second they opened this morning and made her an appointment. My mother, thankfully, agreed to take her in, since I had to go to work, and my vet agreed to treat the cat but allow me to pay over the phone via credit card. Thank the Great Pumpkin for reasonable people. At this point, Alice was having breathing difficulties, throwing up, licking her lips constantly, was extremely lethargic, and had visibly lost weight. (No, I am not a totally irresponsible cat owner. This all happened very fast, and Alice felt bad enough that she kept hiding under things, making it difficult to monitor her condition.)

After spending the morning in borderline-hysterics, I finally got the call from Mom: Alice has pneumonia, which she got the same way humans get it—bad luck, fluid in the lungs, and an opportunistic infection. She's been given an antibiotic shot and some fluids, and I have liquid antibiotics to pump into her for the next few weeks. I also have strict instructions to give her anything she wants, providing it won't hurt her, until she gets her weight back up. So I guess it's the all-wet food, all-the-time diet around my place for a week or two. Let's just hope she doesn't get any ideas about illness equating to better chow, shall we?

It's easy to be calmer now, to make jokes now, to talk about giving her an entire turkey for Thanksgiving, if that's what she wants. But the fact of the matter is, I've been terrified since last night, when it became apparent just how sick she was getting. I am so relieved that she's okay. She's only two. You're not supposed to have to worry about these things when they're only two. But you do.

Hug your kids for me, regardless of their species. I know I'm going to spend the evening hugging mine.

Words: 3,477.
Total words: 7,921.
Reason for stopping: I have finished chapter two.
Music: random shuffle. A great many Browncoat songs.
Cats: Lilly, bed; Thomas, floor; Alice, sulking under the couch.

Chapter two is done. This book is officially off the ground, and while I have a long way to go before I can see the exit—like, somewhere in the neighborhood of 138,000 words of "a long way to go"—everything has a beginning, and this one is now solid.

Writing this book is going to be a really interesting exercise, because there's so much I can't talk about. Not won't or don't want to, actually can't, as any discussion would constitute spoilers for the first two books in the trilogy. Suffice to say, it's a challenge, and it's going to get harder before it gets easier, but I'm very, very excited to be writing it. I was nowhere near good enough to write this book three years ago.

Let's see if I'm good enough to write it today, shall we?