Emergency vets

A very poor night's sleep. I had woken up from a light doze in the middle of the night in tears certain that Calliope had died. Lorraine got up and checked, but she was okay. First thing in the morning she seemed fine. Our plan was to drive up to see Mum, but then she began to be distressed again, and we decided to take her, and pay through the nose, for the emergency vet.  Brian and Calliope's emergencies have both happened on a Sunday, which is a bit vexing. Lorraine drove us to Eastbourne a lovely drive, to a pleasant vets surgery. Calliope clearly unwell, as she had no strength for the usual car howling.

She gave her an anti-inflammatory injection, saying the symptoms sounded like feline cystitis. She also examined her and poked her bladder and so on, all of which Calliope took philosophically though she did hiss when the rectal thermometer was inserted. Home again and she brightened up a bit over the day. The vet says old cats rarely get cystitis unless there is a cancer problem in the bladder or they have been recently highly stressed. We have to take her to the vets nearby tomorrow.

Mum of course very understanding being a lover of cats. 

Rather tired this afternoon, and Lorraine and I lay low. I read about the history of the Anglo Saxons, and Lorraine did some crochet. Phoned mum again, and counted my blessings, feeling happy to be on the gold sofa with two cats and my lovely wife.