Blog, Psychology

Dirling Whervish

The last week has felt fairly nutso. Trying to break out of my rut of stagnation has been challenged by a number of things. Physical therapy for my knee resulted in some excessive bruising, swelling and soreness. I’ve also had that tingly/scratchy/electric feeling behind my eyes and in the back of my sinuses which has me constantly questioning if I’m getting a cold or just haven’t had enough sleep. My school term is ramping up past the point of cute innocuous assignments, this is week nine-thousand-something of being an introvert in quarantine with a held-captive extrovert, and my longest most trusted confidant and comfort is incredibly ill, and necessitated several trips to the veterinarian. For 12 years, there has not been anyone more by my side (and on my chest, and in my face) than my fluffball feline familiar, Zephyr. My other cat is great, but she’s always been the typical aloof cat; Zeph just really can’t abide not being near me. He follows me from room to room like a puppy, and always wants to curl up next to or on top of me (even at 14 lbs).

He trusts me both im- and explicitly, has listened to every woe and dried my tears on his fluff. And for the last couple of months he’s had a severe respiratory infection which has resisted treatment. Listening to my bub wheeze and struggle to force air in and out of his lungs is absolutely destroying me, even though aside from a bit of lethargy and extra clinginess it doesn’t seem to be bothering him. I know that he’s in the later half of his life, but he has always been a super healthy, low-maintenance cat (aside from that one time he shoved his face in my mango margarita – I told you he’s just like me), and I honestly am unsure how I will survive when the inevitable happens. So, a problem like this sends my anxiety into hyperdrive.

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