My TOM DEAD???

     It’s Sunday and I’m sad today because I see Tom and he’s not looking good.  I notice a big sore on his backside and it’s oozing out pus.  I call for him and he moves slowly in my direction.  My first reaction is to take care of him, I now have to try and squeeze the pus out his sore, but I’m afraid I will hurt him; I don’t want him to hate me.  Everytime I touch this sore area he gets worried but I try to be as gentle as I can.  He wants to fight me but he’s reserved.  He did manage to give me a little hissing just to warn me of his discomfort but he never tried to bite me.  He needs some antibiotics, which means I have to give him a shot.  He’s going to think that I betrayed him if I’m not careful with this situation.  I asked a friend, named Ricky, of mine to help me hold him down.  I knew in my heart that if Ricky held him Tom would surely bite him; so I left the needle in the hands of a friend.  All the while in my head I’m thinking, will Tom ever forgive me and will he think that I’m trying to hurt him.  I feel bad, right up to the minute where my friend Ricky sticks the needle straight into the meat and not under the skin like I asked him too.  Tom jumps out of my arms.  We still have a half a cc of penicillin to give him but I don’t want to; I know I have to but I don’t want him to hurt, so I leave him be.

     It’s been three days now and no sign of my Tom.  It’s about one o'clock in the morning and I’m sitting at the back door looking for him.  I think he’s dead.  He hasn’t come to eat or anything.  I ask around but no one has seen him.  I feel guilty because I didn’t give him that last half of a cc.  I call for him and there is nothing.  I keep looking for him but I don’t want to see him dead; so I keep myself from looking too hard. I pray to God and I ask him why he brought this animal into my life allowing me to love him; now look!  Look at what has become of him because of me.

     I think to myself now, “how did I (a dog person) fall in love with a cat?”  A crazy question but I really want my cat back.  It hits me now, my Tom is gone.  I feel a bit lost and upset with myself.  I’d rather he were alive and hated me than to be dead because of my failure to rise to the moment.  I should have made sure that he got the full dosage of the penicillin.  It was my time to take care of him and I let him down.  I’m very upset with myself but I don’t tell anybody.  I think it’s more my pride that keeps me quiet.                 

     It’s Thursday night, I just got back home from my nephew’s graduation and I have to check the mailbox.  I see a cat walking towards me but it’s dark.  I call out Tom’s name and get a meow back.  I can’t hold the tears from falling down my eyes.  I’m so completely overjoyed because my Tom is alive.  I walk to him and pick him up gently because the sore is still there.  It looks way better and there is no more pus, but I’m too happy to think of that.  I try to carry him to the house so I can feed him but my Tom doesn’t like to be held.  He’s a very proud cat that loves to lead the way or walk gracefully beside you but he doesn’t like to be carried.  I run to get his food and some water for him to drink.  I tell him of my dismay and how he’s had me worried for days thinking that he was dead.  I sat outside for an hour looking at him, rubbing him, scratching him, and just smiling; my Tom is home and alive.

     I then thank God for bringing him back to me.  I’m Lady PJ and information is power, so be informed.  Much love to you all.