Today's song is for Weevil

Day 04 -A song that reminds you of someone

Would I be silly if I chose a song that reminded me of Weevil?

Well too bad.

I was at my wits' end Sunday night when he started puking repeatedly. I panicked. I cried. And then called my friend and fellow cat lover Rob, who has provided me with Weevil-related transportation in the past. It was kind of late, and Rob tried reassuring me that I shouldn't be alarmed, said that in his years of experience cats often puke and it doesn't always mean that they're ill. Normally I trust his judgment, but in this case I didn't want to take any chances, seeing as how a few days prior, Weeve had also barfed up a couple of large hairballs. And seeing as how he seemed lethargic in a way that seemed to go beyond him being his aloof, stand-offish self.

So I asked Rob if he could indulge my paranoia, and give me and Weeve a lift to the closest emergency vet. Being the upstanding friend that he is, he agreed, and was over to help me bag up my furry friend in a flash.

The animal hospital was unusually busy for 11 p.m. on a Sunday, so we had to sit in the waiting room for about an hour and a half before Weeve was admitted. Then there was more waiting for X-rays and a blood test, and a meeting with the vet who explained that he was dehydrated and running a fever. The x-rays didn't show any signs of obstruction, and the blood test didn't reveal anything conclusive either, so she insisted on keeping him overnight so she could run a few more tests and get him started on an IV bag of fluids and a course of antibiotics to get the fever down. At that point my only concern was getting Weeve well, so even though it killed me to leave him, I agreed to let him stay so he could get the treatment he needed. I went home with a heavy heart and an empty kitty carrier, trying to trust that my furbaby was in good hands.

It was 2 a.m. by the time I got home, and I was exhausted and sick to my stomach and hardly able to sleep. Which actually worked out fine because I had to be back at the emergency vet at 7:30 a.m., since they close and turn into an exotic animal and bird clinic during business hours.

Rob had an early appointment and couldn't be my ride, and I didn't feel right bugging any of my other friends at that hour, so I high-tailed it across the street to my trusty Enterprise shop, and got myself a car just for the day. When I arrived to pick up Weeve they said his temp had gone down a little, but was still in the fever range. I was instructed to deliver him directly to his regular vet. I did as I was told and was informed that the doc was performing surgery on another animal and would not be able to examine Weeve immediately. They admitted him as a patient anyway though, and said they'd continue with the IV and antibiotics. From there all I could do was go home and wait for the call to bring him home. I tried getting a little sleep, after a couple hours I was up and anxious and unable to focus on anything but domestic stuff, like taking out the garbage and making a salad for that evening's writing group. By midday I was so antsy my worried mom instincts kicked in, and I called the animal hospital to ask for a status update. I was assured that Weeve's condition was improving, but still needed to be monitored, and that the soonest I'd have him back was right before they closed. So I went back to waiting. Four o'clock rolled around and I called again. This time they said his temp was finally normal, but he would likely need to spend the night in order to receive more fluids and ensure there was no relapse. As much as I wanted him home, I couldn't bear the thought of him getting sick again, so I agreed. And a little while later I got a call from the vet himself, who explained Weeve's condition in more detail. He wasn't able to definitively identify the cause of his puking, but suspected it was some sort of virus, which just needed to work its way out of his system. The plan was to offer him some solid food, and if he was able to keep it down through the next morning, he'd be free to go.

So that brings us to today. I went back to work for the first half of the day, since the animal hospital doesn't open until 11 on Tuesdays. Got the call confirming that Weeve was on the mend right after lunch, and with Rob's help set off to fetch him. I got sent home with two cans of prescription food that I'm supposed to feed him the next couple days, and I've been keeping a close eye on him ever since. I'm happy to report that there has been no more puking and Weeve has been hopping on counters and grooming himself like crazy and sniffing everything with renewed interest. I can't even begin to express how happy I am to see him healthy again, and I hope I won't see the inside of my vet's office again until Weeve is ready for his annual rabies shots.

Shit. I've blabbed on and on about all this, and I still haven't gotten to the story of the song that makes me think of him. Sorry bout that. I needed to process the events of the last couple days, and make you understand why I'm picking music connected to him and not a human.

Anyway.....

You might recall that I posted this video in my funeral soundtrack entry about three weeks ago.

Why rehash it again?

Simple. When I was preparing that entry, I booted up my iTunes library, and reviewed the entire Black Parade album. I knew I was gonna pick a song from that record for my sountrack, but I wasn't entirely convinced the track Welcome to the Black Parade was the one I wanted. So I skimmed over the other songs, decided the Black Parade worked the best, and let it play in its entirety.  While this was going on, Weeve was across the room grooming himself. He was really absorbed in what he was doing, until he heard those sparse, opening notes on the piano. They made him perk up, and approach my lappy with great interest. He sniffed the monitor as the song continued, and by the time the chorus played for the first time he situated himself about as close as he could get to the speakers without sitting directly on the keyboard. And then, and this is the best part....his ears started twitching as if he was enjoying the music!! 

You might think I'm joking, but I'm serious as a heart attack. It was the most interest Weeve has shown in anything since he's lived with me, and it made my jokes about him being an emo boy seem that much more valid.

When the song ended, he got up and went back to his original spot. I tried playing a few other songs by other bands. Songs with big, orchestral sound. None of them drew him in the way Welcome to the Black Parade did.

And nothing else has excited him so much since.

Could it be a coincidence that my perfectly coiffed, overly withdrawn kitty responds to Gerard Way? Maybe.

But I prefer to amuse myself by thinking he's just being true to his nature.  Being a fan of the musical genre that suits him more than anything.

And that, my friends, that is why a My Chemical Romance hit makes me think of my kitty.