Consider My Front Porch Crapped On.
The Vet just called.
Evil's easter egg came back as Kitty Kancer (see, if you spell it with a K, it's less likely to make you Kry. Which is a load of Krap.). She's going in Wednesday, so that he can take a better look at things, however, if the mass is actually in one of her lymph nodes, there's not a lot he can do. The big funky thing on her side is probably an extension of that. And I am, officially, the worst cat mother ever.
Khrist on a Krutch.
These Ks aren't helping.
posted by Special Sauce @ 5:02 PM
3 Comments:
Aww... that's 'orrible... ah lubs fwuffy wittle puttycats... *whimpers*
Me too.
And it wouldn't have been QUITE so bad, if my dad wasn't being a jackass. Literally, the second I hung up from making the appointment, he was all "You need to think about putting her to sleep." Which is fine, and yes, it is a consideration, but I. Just. Found. Out. She. Might. Croak. I haven't even processed THAT yet, don't start ragging on me.
So, yeah, that was a bit difficult. But I've just come home from having a few beers with G. Monkey (who also had a bad day) and am a bit calmer now.
Still dreading wednesday. But I can look at her without crying.
Awww, ET. *hugs own babies in attempt to transmit a hug to yours*
I hope she gets better. If that's not possible, I hope she doesn't suffer. And you're not the worst cat mother ever, because the girl the Artist dated who wouldn't spay her cat because "she's so cute when she's in heat!" has that title in perpetuity.
Holla at me if you need me. Lovies.
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