Phoebe Update

She's a little on the mend.

For the first time in my pet-owning years, I finally feel comfortable with the level of care that my cat is getting.

I went in, told the receptionist/tech that Phoebe was having a hard time breathing. Calmly, the woman breathed into a microphone, "Emergency at the front desk, feline, difficulty breathing."

Immediately, two vet techs came out and soothingly reassured me while taking Phoebe from me in a magician's deft motion. "We'll evaluate her and the doctor will come talk to you." I don't think anyone touched me, but I felt like I'd been given an encouraging little rub on the arm and a pat on the shoulder.

I filled out some paperwork and was called into a consultation room.

I had wanted Phoebe to somehow be given oxygen. Moist oxygen.

The tall, remarkably young and very competent veterinarian said soothingly, "We have Phoebe in an oxygen chamber now. We automatically add moisture to it. We're going to run a blood panel and compare it with the one that was taken at your (OLD. OLD. AS IN, NO LONGER MINE) vet's. I would suggest an xray of Phoebe's chest. The best way for us to see what's in her nasal passages is to perform a CT scan, but that gets quite expensive. It's two thousand dollars."

I said no to that. Do the best they could with the other.

Now competent vet said, "I have to ask you this due to Phoebe's condition at the moment. If she goes into cardiac arrest, do you want us to revive her?"

I thought about this and was surprised to hear myself say, "No. Don't put her through that. I think if it's her time to go, she should be allowed to go."

Competent Vet looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear you say that. So many times, it's really for the owner and not the cat. And honestly, the cat doesn't live much beyond that."

I wanted to know that Phoebe was in someplace cozy and was calming down.

"Would you like to say hello to Phoebe before you go?"

Even Hunky Vet has never offered me that. I said yes and walked into a small but bright room, where Phoebe was in a cabinet with two little portholes. She was laying on a flannel sheet. And for the first time, I noticed how hard she really was working to breathe. Poor girl. I reached in and told her I loved her.

The vet said this evening that Phoebe may have an upper respiratory infection. But the underlying cause for all this is...asthma and allergies.

I'm relieved to know that that's the likely cause of this. I've been worried about her.

As for the cost? I could have gone to Paris and had dinner at the Jules Verne restaurant on the Eiffel Tower.

But at this point, I shrug. I thought of returning the as yet untouched iPod. I haven't signed any contract with the caterer. And I said to myself, "What's done is done. Let's just take it from here and see where we end up."