Snalbert was still sick yesterday, so the vet decided to start him on an antibiotic. He's on five medications now, plus syringe-feeding and subcutaneous hydration. We're lucky that he's easy to pill, unlike Snicky. I still have a tiny purple wound under my fingernail from her, her last souvenir. We just open Bertie's mouth and aim the pill at the very back of his throat. Then we tickle his nose until he swallows.
Today there's good news: either the antibiotic is working or Bertie's illness has run its course — I didn't have to clean him up or clean up after him all day, and he's nibbling food on his own again. And he's hanging out with us and purring, in his usual Snalbert way. I missed that.
I didn't miss living surrounded by Indian bedspreads, which we originally draped over all the furniture during the ringworm epidemic because they could be quickly washed every day or two. I took them out to protect the furniture from Snalbert, and I realize I can't stand them. Too many bad memories, and they're uglier than I'd remembered. I put plastic shower curtains underneath them, so seating is unusually slippery around here right now. I'm looking forward to packing them away until the next crisis, but I need to wait a decent interval to make sure Snalbert is really okay.