Cystitis, leave my baby alone!

I have two cats, Dewey and Oliver.  I've never thought of myself as one of "those" pet owners.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  They buy their pets expensive sweaters and only give them bottled water and take them to see animal counselors. 

Not mis gatos.  They walk around the house buck naked, all they get is tap water, and they're pretty much responsible for their own emotional and psychological well being.  I'm not a good listener. 

Oh, but I love them.

People say that cats are cold and aloof.  Some are.  But, not my cats.  They greet me at the door and snuggle with me at night and sit with me when I cry.  They're my buddies.  AND, they love strangers.

Yesterday, I had to take Dewey to the vet.  He has cystitis, which is an inflammation of his urinary tract due to an infection.  It's the second time he's had it in 6 months.  At first, the vet thought he might have diabetes.  The tests came back negative, but I was worried there for a while.  The vet said that he might need to go on a prescription cat food that will prevent any further bouts of cystitis.  Can you say, "high interest loans"? 

Let me take this opportunity to tell you about my Dewey (or DooDoo as he's know to his closest friends). My ex and I found him one day outside our apartment building.  He was very loudly and very boldly begging for food (which he still does).
We fed him every day for about a week.  I'm a soft touch.  What can I say?  Finally, my ex convinced me that we should take him in.  We did.  For that reason, he was always more my ex's cat than mine.  When we broke up, however, he didn't want to take him because he proved to be quite the handful.  Bastard.  My ex, I mean, not the cat.  You see, Dewey meows too loudly, he runs around the apartment at 1:00 in the morning making all kinds of noise, he attacks my legs at night when I move them under the covers, he's forever starting fights with Oliver, and he has occassional bouts of diarrhea that reek to high heaven. 

So, I took him and now I can't imagine my life without him in it.

I hate it when he's sick and he's not his usual self.  He's so uncomfortable.  How do I know?  A mother always knows.   

He's still strong enough to fight taking his pill, though.  I've had to butter it up, put him between my legs, and shove it down his throat.  (That's what she said).

I hope you get better soon, mijo.  Papa loves you.