Of Mice and Men. And Cats.

Note to self:

If you go shopping after taking the cat to the vet, change your shirt. The 15 pounds of fur shed upon spotting the carrier - which is then instantly deposited all over the front of you - is very, very noticeable under the lights of the dairy aisle.

Tiny, airless veterinary exam rooms will make you very hot. The remaining fur on the cat will stick to all the humid, exposed skin you have. You will look like a sweaty Yeti approximately 2.7 seconds after entering the room. Just accept it. Pretend you didn't notice the vet noticing your furry, glistening skin and being amused by it.

A 12-year old cat who has already lost three fangs to gum disease will likely require further dental work and extractions. Be prepared for the overwhelming feelings of fear and dread associated with subjecting a small thing you love to medical intervention. It's not your fault. Your history is fucking with your brain.

It's okay to decide to return the flea treatment the vet recommended because it's toxic and means you can't properly cuddle your 12-year old, mostly toothless cat who you are terrified you're going to lose when you send her back off to have her dental work done. If she doesn't have fleas now, she's probably not going to, particularly given how infrequently she's actually out in the backyard. And if she does get them, you can deal with it then instead. Proper cuddles are way more important at the moment.

It's okay to be this attached to a cat. You loved her before you even knew your Beloved. You have a long history. She has been a security blanket and a comfort and an amusing little friend through times more difficult than you ever dreamed you'd face. You are as close as two beings from two different species can be. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.