Stewie's sick, y'all.
Stewie's sick and I have to wait another hour to bring him to the vet and I am FREAKING OUT, so I'm writing. It's the only thing I can think to do. Okay, let me back this up.
We all know that Stewie is a very weird ass cat. Weird. Full of weirdness. So when he started acting a little lazier than usual, I didn't think much of it. When he started losing weight, I thought "Bingo, that diet thing is working!" and didn't worry.
He's lost SO much weight. And all he does is lie there, looking at me. My baby is telling me something is wrong, and I don't even know how long this has been going on, since I LOST last week due to the Zyprexa debacle, and when I said on this very blog that I was worried about him, everyone said that cats are lazy and not to worry. I'm not blaming anyone else here, I should have known. I should have known days ago.
So I sit here, staring at my cat, waiting for 10:00 to GET HERE so I can take him to Dr. K, who I STALKED on Skype last night begging her to call me, as I panicked my brains out of my head that something terrible was about to happen. That something terrible had ALREADY happened, and I missed it, because I am the worst cat mother in the entirety of the universe.
I realize that some of you have actual human children and might roll your eyes at this, but this is my baby boy, my special little guy. This is STEWIE, for god's sake, and there's something very wrong with him. And there's nothing I can do except wait for 10:00. One more hour.
Please, please, let my cat be okay. I'm sorry for anything I've done, punish me, not my Stewie.
Not my Stewie.