Both male cats are meowing hoarsely again today, which makes us worry that the terrible calicivirus, which they suffered with for a month and just recovered from last week, is already making a return appearance and inflaming their throats. It's possible, because one or both of them may be a permanent carrier, and the stress of their visit to the groomer on Friday was certainly enough to weaken their immune systems.
But they simply have to get those lime sulfur dips every week, or we can't even hope to get back to a normal life a couple of months from now. We are only two weeks along in the treatment and we are anxious to get to the point where we can stop giving them dangerous, expensive medication. And stop cleaning for hours a day. And quit waiting for more ugly spots to appear on their cute little faces. Or on us. We're very tired of washing our hands 30 times a day, too. I'm not exaggerating.
I've resigned myself to expecting the worst and preparing for it, but all one can do against the calicivirus is give the cats twice-daily doses of L-lysine to boost their immune systems, and pray. If they get sick again, we'll have to return to all the nursing chores we gladly gave up so recently: syringe-feeding, hydration, pain shots, nose drops, dosing with antibiotics, and running the vaporizer.
At least we're skilled at cat nursing now, but we really don't need any additional practice.
Yesterday, we walked to the North End, had a pizza at Regina's and shopped at Pace's, the Salumeria, and the Haymarket. It was a nice, mild day for November, and it felt good to be out of the apartment and not medicating some cat or running the vacuum cleaner. It felt good to breathe clean air, untainted by lime sulfur, which irritates my nose and makes me sneeze.
It felt too good, in fact, because now we've got two hoarse cats. I'm beginning to suspect that we aren't supposed to have any fun. I think the gods are punishing us for something. I wish I knew what.