Poor Biggs

When I got home from work yesterday, I saw that Biggs had gotten sick on the exact part of the sofa where I sit. I told him that I didn't feel so badly about taking him to the vet today.

Famous last words.

My vet, Doc, weighed him, checked out his little body to see if something was obvious, and then told me that there was nothing obvious, but that he needed a urine and blood sample.

Sure, I told Doc.

Doc used a needle to tap Biggs' bladder, and then did something much worse. I always figured that a blood sample would come from a lesser vein. Biggs took a needle into the artery in his neck. I'd never heard Biggs meowl like that. Once Doc pulled out the needle, he realized that he needed more blood.

Doc took blood from the same place in Biggs' neck that he did initially. Holy Cracker, did Biggs object. I had to turn away - I knew it was for the best, but that sound, oh, that sound, was almost more than a girl could take.

Next, Doc gave Biggs a shot containing antibiotics, anti-inflamatories, and some Vitamin B.

My poor baby, who hates being in the car, was quite strong. Once we got home, he had some food, and then collapsed in front of his food bowl. I'd never seen him do that before, and honestly, the last time I'd seen such a reaction is when my Boo died.

I was terrified. But now Biggs seems better. He ate the treats I promised him, and we'll know more Monday when his test results come back.

This is the closest I've ever been to a parent, and I cannot imagine the difference.

Please, keep whatever you've got crossed for the amazing creature I've had the privilege to know for fourteen years.

Please.