Last night I heard the sound of a feline throwing up, sighed and rose to clean what I thought would be Sebrina’s mess, our “Up Chuck Queen.” So it surprised me to find Zappa retching and vomiting foaming bile. Shit. Bile. Meant he’d not eaten or lapped water since, well, at least yesterday morning when I fill their bowls. He got me up retching bile again around 4:50AM, then a third time a few hours ago.

I Googled “cat throwing up foam/bile/white foam” and found it could be anything from food poisoning to rejecting a sneaky snack upon our palm, St. John, to FVP to renal failure. I rushed to the market and grabbed a soy and coconut milk yogurt, hoping the smell and taste might appeal to him after the burning bile. Back home, I located him under the bed so technically he’s not hiding from us in a dark corner of the “den.” It’d been my experience that pets hiding equaled dying; still a friend’s driving us to her vet soon and I had Z’s records faxed to the new place.

Dad also offered to help but P beat him to it. He’ll be my chauffeur to and from the hospital for my surgery though. I wrangled myself a strong support group for this newest adventure. Scared for Zappa when I was only shocked at a lung cancer diagnosis. If we have to leave him till this evening or overnight I just might lose it.

My loneliness? Nothing compared to leaving him alone.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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