Thursday 4th January 2018

A day of high stress.

A short report of the day I took Molly to the vet and waited for news. Tuned out my mind was scrambled with worry and incapable of work. I could not concentrate on anything, so didn't try.

Jools was first up and put Molly in her basket, ready for me to take her to the vet at just gone eight. We had breakfast and Molly sat in the basket, hidden under a blanket in silence. I felt that in the past she would have meowed the house down, now she seemed to be accepting it.

I took JOols to pick up the coach to take her to work. Dawn was coming, but there was thick fog, making it a horrible journey into town. I suppose at least at that hour all drivers had their lights on, which would be different from the drive to the vet later. But the fog wasn't too bad, and Jools was there in plenty of time to catch her ride. Leaving me with the drive back home and to while away an hour or so before it was time to go to the vet.

Come dawn, or what passed for it, brought thicker fog and heavy rain. And nightmare traffic. Rush hour and the school run in such conditions is dreadful. And even with the sun having risen somewhere over thousands of feet of fog and raincloud, it barely got light. Roadworks completed the misery, but I suppose I should be happy to be in the car unlike those who were walking to school.

Molly sat in the box next to me, in silence. I was thinking it might be the last few minutes I have with her, so subdued she seemed.

We arrive early, so I sit in the car, pondering on life and the futility of existence as the rain hammered down outside, and the vets arrived for work. At half eight they switched the lights on, and it was showtime.

I went through with the vet what we thought and what was to be done, and I filled out the consent form. I then watched as Molly was taken up the stairs to the operating theatres, if that is what they're called in vets.

I had the choice whether to wait or go home, with the weather so bad outside and the traffic being bad, I decided to stay and wait for news.

At midday she had had the operation and was in recovery, so I could go home, but the vet herself was busy with other cases so could not speak to me. However, on the positive side, if something serious had been found they would have asked me for directions.

So I drove home in heavy rain, splashing through deep puddles for lunch. I found myself drained, head more scrambled than ever. I felt that work would be impossible, so tried to do something to stop my mind from whirring, like rearranging my records, which soon bored me.

At three I got the call from the vet; nothing obviously cancerous, but a cyst on her intestine, and something called granulitis I think, neither of which could be operated on due to their close proximity to a major artery. She was OK, awake and hungry. I could collect her at half four. So I logged in to do some work, at least try to keep on top of things.

At quarter past four I go to the vet again, and find that Molly is awake but quiet, but then seems more alert than I had seen her in a while. I was told about care, and that she could not go out and would need to be stopped from licking and biting the stitches, so the collar of shame or a new thing called a vest was needed. I took both, thinking the vest might be OK, if we could just get it on her. I took her home, then went on a hunt for the old cat tray, but I couldn't find it. I think we got rid of it last year. Meaning I had to go back out to the pet store to buy another, some litter and a scoop.

Back to Whitfield, through the roadworks, and rush round before the store closed, then back home again to check on Molly and find out where Jools was. She was about to pull into Dover and there was a long wait for a train to Martin Mill, could I go and pick her up? I could.

Back out again, through the town to Priory where Jools was waiting, and then back home one last time, where we would have to decide where Molly would be best to be kept. The bathroom was the agreed place.

We had to first put her in the vest. Or try. So on the dining room table we wrestled with the snarling, hissing monster called Molly, but we did it, and was a good fit, with openings for the calls of nature. I carried her upstairs, Jools brought food and the tray for natural relief.

She pounced on the food like she hadn't eaten in weeks. We decided to let her eat and rest, so let her be, while we came down for dinner of beer/cider and pizza. A wise choice as a meal of comfort food ready in just under ten minutes.

Molly made some noise as she tried out her prison, acting like some Cooler Queen, but soon she quieted down as the drugs took affect and she went to sleep. I went to bed to listen to the football, and as soon as it finished at half nine, went to sleep.

The day could have had a very different outcome, and I was more cut up about MOlly than my own Mother.