Poor little M. is sick, which means that I am at home alternating between holding the puke bowl and running around doing odd jobs while she sleeps. It's another case of the strange, on-again-off-again stomach flu that she got last time. She was sick for half a day last Friday, low in energy on Saturday, and seemingly fine on Sunday and Monday; and this morning she is sick again. Apparently this is not abnormal, but it makes it hard to know when you can finally relax. She's such a poor, pathetic, grumpy little thing - on Saturday all she wanted to do was lay outside in the sun with Olallie, who, by the way, is also sick (though you wouldn't know it by looking at him). Right now she is laying on the basement floor (at her insistence), having finally grown tired of the 128th viewing of "Chicken Run."
Olallie has "sterile cystitis," which means that the pH in his bladder is very high, creating sharp little crystals that cut him and make him bleed. It has something to do with stress (probably from being forcibly relocated to my parents' house for a few months, to ease Jeff's allergies) and possibly something to do with eating too many carbs. I will have to feed him some special food for a while and hope that it goes away. If it doesn't, he'll have to go on the Atkins diet, which would probably be good for him anyway. Also, he has some sort of herpes virus in his eye (very common with cats) that makes his eyes tear up, and I have to put ointment in his eyes three times a day for five days. So I guess I might as well just give up on working this week to stay home and be a nurse. If the chickens or Jeff wanted to get sick, this would be a good time.
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