I couldn’t help but shake my head at the cat looking up at me with hopeful eyes. “You can’t have any,” I told him, biting into my sandwich. “You’re diabetic, and your mouth is still healing.”
“But just one tiny bite,” he countered. “One tiny bite wouldn’t hurt.”
“It might, so let’s not take that risk,” I replied.
He sighed, turning away to lie down.
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- I grabbed an apple from the bowl and tossed it into my lunch bag. After ensuring I had enough food for the day, I zipped it up just as the microwave beeped to signal that the egg was ready.
He stood up, stretching enthusiastically. “Oh, that feels so good!” Then he placed a paw on my lap. “Can I lie on the soft blanket?” he asked, with a glimmer of hope.
“It’s too warm,” I complained. “I can’t, sorry.”
“You’re no fun anymore,” he huffed, clearly disappointed.
“Blame spring for that.”
“I’m getting fewer treats—”
“They’re too crunchy, and your mouth is still recovering.”
“But there’s no kibble—”
“You can only eat soft food for a few more days.”
“You keep forcing that awful stuff down my throat!”
I winced at that. After his procedure, his cheeks had swollen and the vet gave us some antibiotics to prevent any infections. The liquid was thick and, frankly, pretty unappetizing. “I’m sorry about that, just a few more days,” I reassured him.
“You keep taking me to the vet! I was there all day!”
“That was to help you!” I defended myself. “And if you keep healing well, you won’t have to return for a while.”
“You should be nicer to me,” he muttered darkly.
“My credit card is taking quite a hit for you,” I shot back, immediately regretting it. That wasn’t fair to him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I corrected myself.
“I don’t even understand that,” he replied.
With a sigh, I stroked him to ease the tension. “It’s been a challenging few weeks,” I admitted.
“It really has,” he agreed, settling down next to me.
“No worries. This summer will be better. Your mouth will feel like new. No more pain!”
“That does sound good,” he grudgingly conceded.
I frowned and added, “I wish you would tell me when you’re hurting.”
“I can’t!” he exclaimed, shocked. “What about the predators?”
“You’re an indoor cat,” I reminded him with a smile.
“What do you want to do this summer?” I asked.
“Sleep,” he said without hesitating.
“Naturally,” I said. “That’s the best way to beat the heat.”
“And eat,” he added.
“Yes, but those are things you do every day. Is there something special you wish to do this summer?”
He thought a moment. “Just keep to myself and avoid humans.”
I chuckled. “Sounds like your ultimate summer plans.”
“Are you planning to spend time in that big water dish?” he inquired.
I nodded. “Probably a lot,” I admitted. “You could swim with me. I think you’d enjoy it.”
He recoiled slightly.
“Or not!” I quickly added. “I’d never force you.”
“The ducks go in there,” he said, sounding a bit exasperated.
“I’m not worried about them. They stay away when I’m outside. I scare them off,” I explained.
We fell quiet for a moment.
“They poop in there,” he noted, quietly.
That made me recoil.
I was dozing off when Freddie got up, clumsily walking over me. “Ouch,” I murmured, waking up. “Where are you headed?” I asked as he jumped down.
“I’m getting a head start on summer,” he replied, glancing back.
“So it’s time to ignore me?” I said.
“Exactly,” he confirmed.
It was a bit of a rough week. On Sunday night, Freddie had some swelling in his cheeks, so I reached out to the vet (they’re always available) to check if it was normal. Thankfully, they thought it wasn’t. His appointment in the morning showed that although the swelling improved a bit, it was still concerning enough for the vet to prescribe antibiotics. They said his diabetes could complicate things. By the next day, the swelling was completely gone, so I think we’re in the clear for now. He seems to be doing well.
