I took her away from the street to save her from an atrocious old man that kicked her for nothing. She has mange, she has URI, she was undernourished. She was weak, she was confused, and in pain.
I sent her to the clinic nearby so that she can be healed, so that she can have proper care, without fighting for my already overflowing hand.
I spent nearly USD 200 on her “hospitalization”, room and food only, and many more in unspecified “veterinary care”
Asked to gave her a name in an instant, my already spinning head came up with “Tabby”
So, Tabby stayed in the clinic; Tabby was cramped with everyone else, Tabby got her treatment, and all other things aside, Tabby healed; just in time for the anniversary of the clinic, and I registered her for spaying.
I had hoped that she will be taken away somewhere safe, away from her ward-mates and with the healthy others, but she was piled up with everybody else, and at least one of the patients has FCV.
She survived the mass spaying; Celia did not.
My downtown vet advised to keep her and the other survivors separate for a little while just to make sure she didn’t bring anything with her.
Soon, Sung Jo Na was cleared, Sibylle was cleared, Tabby was not.
She got FCV.
So here we are, all over again, back to square one. Nebulizer in the morning, baby food twice a day, a long line of supplements, vitamins, shots, antibiotics, subcu, and so on.
Here we are, all over again, with tears, with heartbreak, with fever, barging the vet office for oxygen like a madman, and all those sleepless night.
In between; Celia, Sabrina, Adaggio, and just yesterday, Sandringham.
But then again, here we are. One foot in front of the other. One syringe after another, drip after drip, inhale and exhale.
Today, as good as new. Tabbyla rasa. Two lives down, six more going strong.