Lennon's really sick.

He has up moments and down moments. On the up moments he slouches around the house like a thing out of Yeats, exuding furry misery. Down moments I find him lying on his side in the bathtub, barely breathing.

Most of the time he sort of sits there, not in a comfortable loaf, but in this sort of dejected and drooping lump of black. Occasionally he emits a thin, pained wail.

I wish he'd just YOW YOW YOW. Then I'd know he's okay.

If I put water next to him, he's interested, and sometimes he'll drink a little. Most of the rest of the time he sort of sits there with the tip of his chin fur in the water, thinking about it hard.

He's not interested in food; he slouched off when I offered him tuna. (Then Arthur nicked it.) I wish I could do something better. I also wish that the smell of tuna didn't make me feel violently ill, but that's been tidied up.

Hour and a half until he's expected at the vet.

Fretfret. . .


*finds the userpic with Lennon in*
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From: [identity profile] micheinnz.livejournal.com


Aw, poor Lennon! Here's hoping that whatever's wrong is easily treatable and he's back to his usual self soon. Olivia sends purrs and headbutts.
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