How to Kill a Cat-man

As those who read this blog regularly know, my cat Cammie has a problem with food allergies, and has had episodes of severe and continual vomiting from time to time, the causes of which sometimes elude me. Consequently, I am very careful regarding her access to food.

I am also sensitive to signs of her throwing up. I almost always wake when I hear that dreaded sound in the night, and leap from bed to determine if it is indeed the princess puking. A few nights ago, I heard such a sound.

Cammie had thrown up a hairball that day while I was at work. That didn’t concern me: a hairball is quite different from an allergic reaction. But this evening’s deposit was no hairball; it was thick, clear and slightly foamy, just what I’d expect her to bring up if she hadn’t eaten for several hours beforehand. I couldn’t think what the princess could have consumed earlier in the day to cause her problems this time, but I feared another of her episodes, all of which end with her going to the hospital.

There was a chance, however, that this was not going to turn in the usual direction. Cammie burps sometimes and has, now and then, brought up nothing more than some sputum. I hoped this was the case now. But I wouldn’t know until she had or had not thrown up some more, over the next day or so.

Well, she didn’t. I came home that afternoon from work and searched the bedroom in which she is sequestered each day. There was no unwanted debris. So it has continued since. The truth is not always apparent, even after a day or two, since her episodes are, though rarely, delayed reactions to her eating the wrong thing. After an initial vomiting, it is a matter of holding one’s breath for several days.

This is life with Cammie. Periods of calm punctuated by dread. Each of my beasts has his or her own way of terrorising me, of shortening my life-span. They will eventually kill me, I’m sure. But not this week.