regulating

I don’t think I can accurately describe how much cat puke I just picked up.

It’s one in the morning. I’m currently staring at Taylor, watching him drink water, waiting to make sure he’s not about to go into some kind of seizure.

At my last job there were many new parents, the kind who often spent from three in the morning until six in the morning awake with their babies. There was absolutely no sympathy for a girl like me — the one who didn’t get home until midnight because she was rehearsing a comedy show, woke up because of cats puking at five and then wrote a few pages of her novel before we had to be on the set. My life is nothing but easy living, as far as they were concerned.

I’m thinking of those guys tonight because I’m bone tired, but I’m afraid if I fall asleep my cat will die and it will be all my fault because I knew he wasn’t feeling well.

We can’t seem to get his glucose regulated, to the point where the vet is currently “doing some research” to figure out what to do to keep us from having to give Taylor insulin three times a day. I’m not sure how the hell we’d be able to administer insulin shots three times a day unless I am somehow able to convince my animal-adverse co-worker into having an office cat.

[scripty]
Chris
Seriously. How much is all of this costing you?

Pam
It’s a little expensive right now, because he keeps having to go to the doctor. But once it’s just the insulin…

Chris
So how much is that?

Pam
Like, fifty bucks every couple of months.

Jeff
Thirty-two cents.

Pam
What?

Brian
Oh, I just asked him the price of something else.

Chris
“Thirty-two cents”? What’s that?

Jeff
A bullet.
[/scripty]

I called the vet on Wednesday. He said he was still doing some research, but I was frustrated that we’ve gone another week knowing we’re giving him insulin at levels that aren’t helping him. Taylor is famished to the point where the other night he leapt at the food in my hand, trying to scare me into dropping it. He’s constantly thirsty, incredibly hungry, and I am just trying to beat the day he starts dropping weight.

[scripty]
Vet
How’s he doing on the wet food?

Pam
Yeah, we haven’t exactly started him on that.

Vet
Oh. It’s very important you give him the wet food.

Pam
We have three cats. If we give one special food, the other two will figure out how to grow thumbs and grab kitchen knives and —

Vet
Taylor needs the high protein/ low carbohydrate diet that the cans I gave you will provide. Then it’ll be easier for him to process his food and —

Pam
Is there a way that all three cats can go on this food?

Vet
No. If you give a high protein food to an older cat, it’s bad for the kidneys, the liver…

Pam
How many cans a day?

Vet
Two.

That’s sixty dollars a month.

Pam
That seems like a lot of food.

Vet

Pam
Sorry. I just… I…

Vet
Is there no way you can’t put Taylor in a room to eat the food and then… are you feeding the cats twice a day instead of grazing, like we talked about? So that you can give Taylor the shot —
[/scripty]

Already we’re having a problem because we thought we were so clever. We give Taylor his shot at noon and midnight, because those are the two times of the day that probably one of us is home. And for the most part it has worked out. At seven in the morning, usually one of us is here. But at seven at night? Eight at night? I’ve been home for fifteen hours. In three days. This afternoon I asked a friend, “So, how was your weekend?” I have no idea what day it is, much less what time. If it weren’t for stee, sweet Taylor would be dead. And I know this wet food is the last straw for poor stee, because it grosses him out and Cal and Olive are pissed off that Taylor’s getting special treatment, and now we’re trying to move the meal time/insulin time to the morning because they will not stand for only being fed at noon and midnight and I know it’s just a cat and wow, do I know to put this all in perspective, but I thought tonight maybe I’d get some sleep and I heard this sound in my dreams, inside my head, telling me that Taylor was sick and I woke up (I swear I thought it had to be the morning already, but I’d only been asleep for just over an hour), stumbled to the living room and found puke everywhere, and Taylor walking to another location to spray some more.

I’ve been cleaning puke out of the carpet for half an hour, trying to figure out if he got sick because he had his shot without enough food, or if he just ate so much of this new stuff in one day his stomach can’t handle it, or if he’s just sick of being sick and this is the beginning of the end.He’s sitting next to me right now, and he looks like he feels fine, but he’s not sleeping. He’s not in my bed. Right now, normally, the two of us are curled near my pillow, sound asleep. Instead I’m sitting here staring at him, and he’s staring at me and he doesn’t know that in six and a half hours I have to leave this house (stopping at the vet to buy more wet food that Taylor will certainly puke onto the rug), and won’t be home from meetings/work/performances until midnight.

This makes me: a horrible mother.

Maybe tonight I’ll sleep out here, on the couch, where Taylor’s sitting, because tonight he needs to stay close to his water bowl. It won’t make me feel less guilty when I leave here in the morning, but it’s everything I can do tonight to make sure he’s okay…. or I could take his water bowl into my bedroom so we can try sleeping in a bed because crashing on the couch near all the dried puke and rug-cleaning products with my rosacea medicine on my face and my laptop open to my blog is so crazy cat lady that it’s beyond ridiculous.