The other night our littlest kitten, who is no longer little, was ill. He must have eaten a plant or something when out on the porch all afternoon. He was listless, vomiting, breathing shallowly and his heartbeat was rapid. Pretty scary stuff. And he didn't want to be touched at all. To avoid dehydration, I kept dipping my finger in his bowl and he would lick the water off.
Yesterday morning he was still not well but I got a call later from the hubby that the kitten was regaining strength, had eaten some canned food and was drinking from his water bowl. Phew.
Last night, I walked in the door and he ran over to me, climbed straight up my pant leg and clung to my sweater until I held him. Then he began rubbing his head all over my face and suckling on my lips. Frantic for love.
Loosely translated, he was saying "omgiwassoooosickanddidntknowwhattodoandandandandicouldbarelyliftmyheadorbreatheandiwassoscaredandthenyouleftandicouldntfindyouanywhereyouweregoneforpossiblyyearsandiwassoscaredandnowyourehomeanditfeltlikeyouwerenevercominghomeimissedyousoooomuchandandandandimsogladyourebackthatimnevergoingtoletyougo"
It feels good to be loved. Thank God he's okay.
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