I took Sasha to the vet on Friday afternoon, and she’s thankfully forgiven me for it. The first part of the visit wasn’t too bad – they weighed her (she’s lost 3 lbs from her normal weight of 9), stuck a thermometer up her butt (to which she curiously had no protest), then made me wait until the vet came in. We chatted about my concerns, then she whisked Sasha off to do some blood work and maybe try to pull the tooth that looked like it wanted to come out.

And then I spent the next 30 minutes sobbing on a leather couch in the reception area.

Sitting there and listening to Sasha scream in pain and outrage was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. She did NOT like getting blood drawn, or the vet, or the technicians, or the universe, or me very much at all at that moment. Eventually they brought her out to me in her carrier, smelling all sad and antiseptic like the world’s most depressing piercing parlour. I paid them a lot of money, they said they’d call me tomorrow with the results, and we went home so I could try to make her love me again.

The vet proved good to their word and they called me the following afternoon with the verdict: Sasha has bad kidneys. One of them isn’t working as well as it should, the muscles in her rear legs are beginning to atrophy, and she is old. This, however, is almost all good news: I took her to the vet early enough so that they caught the kidney problem at the earliest possible time. She’s not even on kidney medication; the vet suggested I put her on some special wet food for old cats and we’ll check her again in 4-6 months. If her kidneys look the same or better, we keep on the same path. If things are worse, we move her to a kidney diet. In the meantime, she gets special food that she seems to really like, all the love and attention she can handle, and a mild scolding from me for being old. Ed and I have to be really careful about not leaving human food out, as that was probably what was making her throw up so much. I’m thinking about investing in a bear-proof garbage can, since she really is a pain in the ass when she decides that she’s entitled to something.

I am happy enough, since nothing short of a diagnosis of “she seems to be reversing in age, it’s the strangest thing” would satisfy me completely. Sasha seems much better than she did even a couple days ago; she’s eating all her food (and then some of Hobble’s), being affectionate, and not throwing up. This is good. She is doing much better than I am.