Oh no

Simon is sick. He vomited a lot this week (including a mass of elastic string that was once wrapped around a top round roast and which, I had thought, was safely stashed in the garbage), and I took him to the doctor today, and they did bloodwork on him, and everything was pretty normal; they also gave him fluids to help him use the litterbox.

But he hasn't. And he's just lying on my bed, breathing shallowly and quickly, and his nose is unbearably hot and he growls when I touch any part of him but his head.

Please pray. Most days he's all I have, in the realm of companionship.

I can deal with all the stuff that's happened to me in the last few months -- I can deal with what happened to me at my old job, I can deal with learning a brand-new job in which I have no experience all over again (after doing the same thing only six months ago), I can deal with all of my friends being busy or out of town, I can deal with -- even embrace -- another year of singleness. But I don't think I can deal if something awful happens to Simon.