I spent three hours last night at the animal ER. Simon may have a viral infection, or a bacterial, or there may be a second mass of elastic netting from the second roast I made last week, which is unaccounted for. (That Beefe and Olive Daube has turned out to be the most expensive meal of my life.)

They filled him with fluids, and barium, which turns his kitty poo white if his digestive system is working. If he doesn't pass anything by this afternoon, I have to call the hospital again. He may need surgery.

He hasn't vomited since Friday night, but he gets listless in the late mornings, and huddles under the bed, and his nose gets dry and hot.

This waiting sucks. I wish I could do a Mary Poppins snap or something, and make him all better. I hate seeing my dearest companion, whom I've grown to adore absolutely, suffer without my being able to help.

And I can't afford surgery. But I'll find a way to, if I must.