Little Reviews: Poem for Wednesday and Poor Cat

To My Cat
By Rosamund Marriott Watson

Half loving-kindliness and half disdain,
Thou comest to my call serenely suave,
With humming speech and gracious gestures grave,
In salutation courtly and urbane;
Yet must I humble me thy grace to gain,
For wiles may win thee though no arts enslave,
And nowhere gladly thou abidest save
Where naught disturbs the concord of thy reign.
Sphinx of my quiet hearth! who deign’st to dwell
Friend of my toil, companion of mine ease,
Thine is the lore of Ra and Rameses;
That men forget dost thou remember well,
Beholden still in blinking reveries
With sombre, sea-green gaze inscrutable.

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I spent most of Tuesday taking care of my cat, who has been sick since Sunday night. Rosie had eaten almost nothing since then, so I took her to the vet, who kept her for a couple of hours to give her fluids and run her blood work and thyroid tests, which were normal -- better than last time, in fact, when her liver enzymes were elevated, though there was bilirubin in her urine and she was dehydrated from basically not eating for two days. While Rosie was attached to the IV, and therefore in a part of the office where I couldn't sit next to her, I went out for Indian food with Paul, then went back to get her and talk to the vet.

Rosie was very angry -- she hates car rides and vet trips under the best of circumstances, let alone when she doesn't feel well -- so although she ate a little bit when we got home, she was still quite out of sorts (usually she eats as much as possible for as long as possible). She sat in my lap for a long time, then curled up while I folded laundry. Now the other end of her digestive tract is upset so we have just had to commit that most horrible of offenses against a cat and wash her. I am really hoping she is better by tomorrow morning -- the vet is closed for Thanksgiving so I may need to take her back tomorrow if she's not.