Lennon the Cat must spend two more nights at the vet's office.
Gah. He's still too up and down in his glucose levels (and all that). Over the phone Tom told the doctor that he's unemployed and not sure if we could handle paying for two more nights, but the vet said he didn't think there would be an extra charge.
But whatever, the hardest part is that I'm wondering if Lennon thinks we've abandoned him. Oh dear, we've never left him anywhere and he is intelligent! His vocabulary of words understood is quite high and we have babied him and he gives back to us, oh he does.
Three times I've called out during nightmares and Lennon (and McCartney twice) began meowing, or rather, yowling, releasing me from those scary scenes. The first time I held Lennon the Kitten, he snuggled against me and silently studied my face, my eyes, like no other kitten I'd held before. And as a young cat he saw me cry and then came and stood with paws on the couch's edge, staring as if to ask, "What's wrong?"
I sat on our front porch today for the first time this year, winter sun upon my back, but oh, I missed my porch buddy. There was no soft white cat sitting upon the table, inches from my face, all squinty-eyed with pleasure, asking, "Isn't this warm sunlight amazing?"
No, in the big windows I sat alone.
Oh, the way these pets of ours take up so much room inside our hearts!