"He won't stop coughing" Part Two.

Reluctantly, we went home, leaving Tyler at the vet. 

I couldn't believe it.  I just could NOT believe it.  How did this happen so fast?  What was going to happen to my little guy?  My Tyler? Would he make it?

Now, anyone that knows me knows that I HATE the unknown.  I like to have full knowledge of all events and all possibilities, I like to have it ALL planned out.  If I do not, it drives me up the wall, and I obsess. 

And obsess. 

And obsess.

 I have pretty much been this way my whole life, and I don’t foresee any change any time soon.

“I hope he will be OK.”  I must have said 15,000 times to my mother on the drive home.

“Don’t worry Daniel.”  I could see she was worried.  

I noticed a change in my mother that day.  From indifference to reluctant acceptance of having a cat in the house, I saw, for the first time, genuine concern in her eyes and her face. 

One thing I inherited from my mother, aside from neatness, is the fact that she always “wore” her emotions on her face.  If she was happy, mad, sick, glad, whatever, she didn’t have to communicate it.  You saw it on her face and in her eyes.  Especially if she was dizzy or nauseous. My mother was pretty much always dizzy and nauseous. I never actually knew why, I just knew not to spin her chair or that would be it for about 48 hours. 

She had worry on her face that day.  Despite her assurances to me, I could see she didn’t really mean it.  She was worried for Tyler.  That was for sure.

When we got home, my father was waiting at the door.  Even he looked concerned.  We told him what had happened at the vet, and my father, in his usual manner, replied:

“Don’t worry, Danny, he’s going to be fine, I’m sure it’s nothing.  Want some cereal? Irene, where’s the cereal?”  I wasn’t hungry.

I did the best I could to distract myself.  I watched TV, I tried to read.  Of course every 5 seconds I would want to call the vet for an update.

“Should I call Dr. Vezza?”  I asked several thousand times.

“No, Daniel.”  My parents said, in unison.  They sounded like a chorus after a while. “He will call us when there’s an update on Tyler. Try to relax.”

Well, that’s not good enough!  How could I relax?? He’s my cat, he should be more important than any other cat and dog at that fucking vet!  I know that’s unreasonable, but who cares!  Tyler should have every vet in the country working on his as a team, like an episode of House!

Finally, in the early afternoon, Dr. Vezza called.

“How’s Tyler?”  I asked.  It was a dumb question.

“It’s very touch and go.  He’s very weak and has a very bad infection and 106 fever.”  101 or so is a normal temperature for a cat, so a 106 fever is very high by any stretch.

“What do we do?”  My voice was shaking.

“He’s on IV and antibiotics, and is resting.  I’m going to keep him overnight and we will see how he is in the morning.  We are doing everything we can, but this is a pretty bad infection for a cat.  He probably had had this for some time and it came out after he was taken out of the shelter environment.”

“Should I come and see him?” again, I was new to this whole pet thing, so I assumed he was in his own room with a TV like in a hospital or something. 

“He’s resting.  I'll call you in the morning, or sooner if there’s any change.” With that the little stocky Italian hung up the phone.

I told my parents what the vet had said.  Tears were welling up in my eyes. I wanted to call the shelter and ball them out.  How could they miss this infection?  I knew it wasn't anyone’s fault really, but I felt like I had to blame someone.

My father and mother hugged me.  Now, normally I wasn’t much of a fan of group hugs from them, but that day I needed one. 

Needless to say, it was a LONG night.

I had plans with my friends, but cancelled them because frankly I wasn’t in the mood.  I wanted to be home, not out having a miserable time standing in some bar.  Yes, hard as it is to believe, in 2000/2001 I was still firmly in the “going to bars” era of my life.  Thank the lord those days are over.  I mean, is there anything more pointless than a bar?  You stand there, it smells, the music is too loud, the beer sucks and everyone has a stick up their ass. It's frankly as boring as watching paint dry, and as soon as I walked into a bar, even in my youth, I couldn't wait to leave.  I know I’m writing this with the mind of a crotchety 41 year old, not someone in their late 20’s who still clung to the notion that he would meet someone at a bar, but still. Let's be honest.  Bars suck.  The whole concept is just fucking stupid.

OK, get back on topic, Dan.

“Sorry, guys, I don’t feel like going out tonite.  Tyler is at the vet, he may not make it.”

My friends were understanding, and even apologized and offered their sympathy. That is, all but one.  A short, snotty girl that was part of my then crowd named Arlene, whom I didn't really like that much, didn't seem to understand what all the fuss was about.

“Why won't you come out, it’s JUST a cat.” I was stunned.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me.”  Was all I could reply and I hung up the phone.

I never spoke to her again.

For the first time in weeks, I slept alone.  I kept thinking Tyler was there, at the door, or at the foot of the bed, but he wasn’t. 

How could a little cat in so short a period of time become such an important part of my life?  What would I do if he didn’t make it?  I couldn’t just go out and get another cat.  It doesn’t work that way. 

I yearned for so long, so hard, to have a cat to love as my own, and found an amazing cat in Tyler.  In a few short weeks, he changed our lives and brought a warmth to our household that it never had in all the years I was alive. How could he be taken away after a few weeks? 

Am I repeating myself?  Well, that’s what I mean by obsessing.  At least for me.  These were the thoughts that went over and over in my head.

Finally, I sort of fell asleep.

At 8:00 the next morning.  Dr. Vezza called.

“I have good news.  Tyler is better.  His fever broke and the infection is going away.  He even ate a little bit. He’s a fighter, your little guy. You can come and take him home.”

I jumped for joy and let out a YES!  No, seriously, I literally jumped for joy.

“Tyler’s OK!” I screamed. “I’m going to go get him!”

I ran into the car and must have broken several traffic laws flying to that little old house in Roslyn where Tyler was. Minutes later, Dr. Vezza brought out my red cat carrier, and there was Tyler. He looked tired, he looked disheveled, he smelled like the vet, but when he saw me he picked up his head and his eyes lit up.

I had tears in my eyes.  Tears of joy.

“Now he’s been through a lot and he’s very weak, it was a bad infection.  Let him rest, give him as much food as he wants to eat.  Give him these pills twice a day and I want to see him in a week. I’ll say this for the little man.  He’s a tough cat.  That was a lot to go through.  He might deal with respiratory issues later in life and he won’t be joining the Olympics.” 

That last part made me shudder.  Later in life?

Then came the best part. The vet bill.

Total: $1,000.00.

WHAT?? ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. For one night? 

Who cares!  Tyler was coming back home.  I paid it gladly (with some help from my parents of course, I mean, I was still living at home) and home we went.

Just like the first day I adopted him, Tyler chirped from the back seat.

“We’re going home old man.  Don’t worry.”  I was so happy.  So RELIEVED.  Utterly relieved.

My parents were waiting at the door (of course) when I came back in with Tyler. 

"He’s very tired, so don’t expect much except sleep.”  I warned. 

My mother looked happy.  She even had tears in her eyes.  As soon as I opened up the carrier, she picked him up and held him, securely, in her arms, as only a mother could.  She kissed him on the head, and he sank into her arms and purred.  Tyler never was a big fan of being held for very long, but for my mother, on that day, he seemed to enjoy it.

“I missed you.” She said, rubbing his ears and kissing his head again and again.  “When you’re up and about I’m going to make you your own chicken. You like chicken right?  Of course you do.”

He purred even louder.

Words cannot describe my emotions at seeing her react the way she did.  My mother became a certified cat lover on that day. There was no other way to describe it.  I had converted her.

Tyler was indeed weak, and tired.  He staggered around a bit, drank some water, and then ambled over to the stairs.  He tried to get up the stairs, but couldn’t.  He looked at me, as if to say “would you mind giving me a hand?”

I carried him up to my room, and put him on the bed.  He walked over to his favorite daytime spot, curled up propped up on the pillows and promptly passed out.

I sat with him for a good while, just watching him sleep.  It was so good to have him home.  To not have lost him.  It was then and there that I knew that Tyler and I would have a good, long life together.

“Don’t scare me like that again Tyler.  I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Tyler didn’t even wake up.  He just slept the day away.