*Forewarning: this is the longest, and quite frankly it's one of the most ridiculous pieces of content that I have posted in quite some time. Includes quips, backstory, and my dramatic thoughts. However, it also includes a 'List of my Trip To The Vet'.*

I am not your typical mom, but if you haven't noticed by now... I am indeed a mom, just not to another human.

See... My son is roughly 10 (maybe 11 on a bad day) pounds, measuring up to my calf (I am 5'8" so... whatever that means), has 4 feet, and is covered in furry happiness. My child's name is Drogon (and no, I did not misspell his name. Ask his other mother Kayla... she named him after a dragon in the Game of Thrones Book Series). He is a black fuzzball of pure cat bliss. If you're not a cat person, I understand how you wouldn't necessarily relate, but honestly, he makes waking up actually enjoyable (kind of). There are of course those days (you know the ones) that I could kill him.

"Drogon stop it!"

"Drogon, don't knock that down!"

"DROGON GET OFF OF THE FRIDGE AND STOP KNOCKING ALL OF THE MAGNETS ON THE FLOOR."

In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. Every night he curls up in bed with me, whether it's at my feet (on his blanket that is basically nicer than mine), on most of my pillow (which also means my head and face), or next to me (on his other blanket... no this isn't a joke... yes... I know he's spoiled), and goes to bed. Every morning he wakes me up, or I turn over in my sleep thus waking him up, which then turns into him waking me up because he thinks I am indeed already awake (it's such a tiring cycle).

I'm his mother; I care for him, both physically and emotionally (although my grandma does play a good second when he needs it). I feed him and clean his litter, fill his food and water. I make sure he's safe and happy. I spoil him with toys and catnip sprinkled with more toys and more toys. I love him so much I could scream.

With all of that in mind, I notice his routine. I mean, it mostly matches my own so of course, I was drawn to paying attention to what he was doing. He crawled into his litter box 4 times in a 2-minute span. He stood there, hesitated... but when he got out... there was barely any urine. I am super anxious and paranoid so I scoured the internet for answers. My heart kept telling me it was a UTI (but that was coming from what I knew of people, not what I knew about cats), which terrified me. Something was wrong with my sweet little asshole.

The following will illuminate exactly what it felt like during the process of thinking there COULD be something wrong, the actual visit to the Vet, and the aftermath.

1. Panic

Racing thoughts as the internet taunted me with the worst case scenario. This phantom cat disease that only occurs once in a hot while. It's the moments that we think our pet is dying, and I know you know what I'm talking about (be real, you've been there).

2. The Vet

Unlike normal people, I didn't have a vet for my cat (around my house. I moved back in September... so I am justified here) so I had to research the vets within a 20-mile radius. Let me tell you... when you live in the city, there's hundreds and hundreds of them. By the time you find a vet (if you don't already have one), they will probably be closed (depending on when you initially began the search). So the question you're faced with is whether or not it's legitimately an emergency or can it wait until the next day.

3. Paranoid Sleepless Night

I barely slept that night. I kept following him with my eyes, and the second I heard him in his litter box, my iPhone and I were weirdly staring at him (it's totally normal to watch your animal go to the bathroom when you think there's something wrong right? .... don't answer that).

4. Getting Ready For The Day

This consisted of 20% of stalking my pet (to make sure he was breathing and ok), 22% of anxiety-ridden thoughts (thinking of all of the things that could be wrong with him combined with scenarios my brain came up with), 12% focusing on showering/getting ready for work, 24% afraid the vet wouldn't have any openings, and 22% terrified my new bosses wouldn't let me leave work early if I did get him an appointment. Talk about vicious (I obviously got him an appointment, my bosses were awesome about it, and everything worked out well).

5. Mulling Over The Appointment

There were a solid 7 hours between myself and that appointment. I had 7 long hours to contemplate whether or not this visit would be alright. Or if Drogon would freak out in the car because he hasn't been in the car for a while. As time began to lapse, the anxiety continued to climb. What if I was late because there was some horrible accident? What if he was gone when I got home? What if some unspeakable thing of thingyness happened that makes no sense, but is still freaking me out??? ... It wasn't my shiniest moment, ok?

6. Accidents

We know that accidents happen. I am not talking about the kind where one person hits another... I am talking about the bowel kind. My baby peed on my front seat. I wasn't mad at him, but he cried out... which made me, of course, think that he was in pain... Gawd, it was awful (I want to flash forward to when we were leaving the vet. He was so freaked out about the 3 new dog smells in the waiting room that he urinated on me... who needs a kid when I have a cat that basically did the same thing? hah!). He is basically as anxious as I am.

7. The Wait

Literally THE WORST THING IN THE WORLD. I was sitting in a tiny room, they had taken my furbaby, in order to x-ray him, and get a urine sample. 45 minutes. I was in that room for 45 long minutes by myself, with 21% phone battery. Have you ever stared at a clock and felt like the hands weren't moving? That was happening to me. It felt like the longest time of my life. Not to mention when they actually brought him back to me, we waited for an additional 20 minutes in order for them to get the results. LITTLE ROOMS ARE AWFUL. Then there are the moments of "Maybe it's taking so long because he's dying. Oh Gawd... Don't Die." ... I can neither confirm nor deny the overly dramatic response I was having whilst in said tiny room.

8. The Talk

Now, this can go one of three-ish ways. One, you're just some paranoid crazy bitch and there's literally nothing wrong with your 100% healthy animal. Two, your cat may be stressed out because of a strain in their diet or a change in their routine. Three, they're dying or have a rare cat disease. Although I felt like Option One, we ended up being Two. The vet went over his x-ray with me (it was really cool by the way, I got to see his kidneys, liver, heart, lungs, bladder, and the fact that he needed to go to the bathroom) and talked about what could be causing his problems. It was a very informative and helpful conversation. She handed me the bill (goodbye money), told me that a tech was going to tell me how to give Drogon his medication, and said she'd be calling me to get an update on how he was doing the next day (I really appreciated this so much).

9. Medication

Medicine is scary, hell medicine sucks even for us as people (Amoxicillin anyone?), but when she handed me the little blue bottle of pills for Drogon, I was ready. I prepared myself for the struggle (giving your pet a pill is not always easy, obviously). I had to hold him in my arms; with one hand I had to open his mouth (no, this did not hurt him), and with the other, I had to put the pill as far back in as I could and softly hold his mouth closed (they will try to spit it out). I hated it. Hated forcing my baby to eat something that wasn't a small square of cheese or a treat, but we both overcame it, and he's doing better.

Taking your animal to the vet is SUPER terrifying, but necessary. Please be aware of your animal(s) and their behavior in order to ensure you're giving them the best care you can. They are your family as much as you are their human.

Love to you and your pets.