Poor little Hambone

Poor Hambone was acting weirdly two days ago, so I called my parents at work to compare notes. Mom noticed he hadn’t been eating his usual amount. Dad noticed he needed help getting onto his sleeping chair. I noticed he was walking funny and sleeping significantly more than the usual 18 hours per day.

One person noticing any of the symptoms wouldn’t necessarily put together that something’s wrong. However, all three notes combined had me rushing to find a vet in the area with availability that day.

For those of you who have had the pleasure of meeting The Bone, he’s not a passive animal. He’s a strong-willed being who doesn’t seem to understand that he’s about a tenth the size of a human. When taking him to well-cat visits, entry into The Rage Cage (a.k.a. his carrier) is an event that requires physical strength and mental agility on my part. Have a plan, expect the unexpected, and react accordingly and swiftly when plans A, B, and C fail. Usually I end up wrapping him in a towel to confuse him, dump him into the cage, and then apologize profusely as I zip and Velcro everything up.

Two days ago he allowed me to put him into The Rage Cage, barely sighing as I lifted him into the car. My heart broke a little that he really wasn’t feeling well. Then it broke a little more when he started getting motion sickness in the car and I couldn’t explain to him what was going on due to his lack of comprehending the English language. The situation was all-around sucky.

However, things got a bit better than I pulled into the vet’s office and there was a big banner stating this was voted the clinic of the year. Now, I know voting on these sorts of things isn’t fool-proof. After all, Chicago’s CitySearch site lists Excalibur as the best dance club, neglecting to mention that NO ONE in the city uses CitySearch, so it’s tourists casting their votes based off of one night spent at a cheesy club in the heart of Chicago’s hotel row. But I digress. The banner put me at ease nonetheless.

The staff and vet were swift to take us into a room, check him out, draw a bunch of blood for $200 in tests, and tell me what they thought was up. His glucose levels were high, so more blood was drawn for more tests. Repeat the process of everything above the next day, and today I have a diabetic cat with an infection, two weeks of antibiotics, an appetite stimulant, another $200 vet bill, and an appointment for next Tuesday evening to run some more tests before deciding when to start him on insulin.

This morning I awoke to him begging for food — something he hasn’t done in days. And then he also reacted with a little curiosity and urgency to a bird on the porch. So although he’s napping excessively, he’s already improving.

Here’s to hoping all is good in Hambone-land soon.


2 responses to “Poor little Hambone

  1. Sorry to hear about the Bone. Or is it the Hammy? Either way, here’s hoping for feeling better.

  2. Start playing the Rocky comeback theme for Hambone.

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