A co-worked invited me to dinner today, as a thank you. Since I’m always up for a meal, never mind a free meal, we set about choosing a day, time, and place. I suggested a time that would allow me to run home, feed the cats, test Isabella and give insulin and still easily get to the restaurant. My friend suggested an earlier time that worked out better for her, and pre-diabetes, would have worked out great for me too.
Since the negotiation was entirely by email, I paused and mentally hemmed and hawed. Should I insist on my time? Should I explain about the cat? Should I shut up and just let Isabella stew in her sugary juices for an extra 90 minutes? After a bit of waffling, I decided to let the cat marinate and schedule dinner for the time that worked best for my hostess. I wish I could say that the fact that I’m the guest was the tipping point, but it wasn’t.
It was the potential of the raised eyebrow.
If you have a diabetic cat, you know what I’m talking about. It’s the look you get when you tell someone that your cat needs insulin.
By injection
Twice a day.
That’s enough to send most folks over the edge and set them thinking that I’m either quite crazy or quite brave – and that’s before I mention the ear pricks for glucose tests. Add that little piece of information into the mix and if the arched brow hasn't made an appearance yet, it’ll pop up now for sure. That’s when I see them mentally scratch “brave” from the list and settle happily on crazy.
Oh, sure, there are a few people who are devoted to their pets that ask a few questions and nod as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to poke your cat until it bleeds a couple times a day. Others think they couldn’t possibly do it. Some are amazed that I’d go to such lengths for a mere animal. (People who have met the snarky little Isabella are likely the most amazed of all.) And there’s the contingent that thinks I’m nuts. A “cat lady.” Sort of sad and weird.
Sometimes I just don’t want to deal with the eyebrow, so I keep my mouth shut. But other times, I admit, Isabella’s diabetes is a tool. If this dinner drags on, or is deadly boring, I won’t hesitate to excuse myself, with the explanation that my cat needs her meds.
I don’t think Isabella would mind.
Since the negotiation was entirely by email, I paused and mentally hemmed and hawed. Should I insist on my time? Should I explain about the cat? Should I shut up and just let Isabella stew in her sugary juices for an extra 90 minutes? After a bit of waffling, I decided to let the cat marinate and schedule dinner for the time that worked best for my hostess. I wish I could say that the fact that I’m the guest was the tipping point, but it wasn’t.
It was the potential of the raised eyebrow.
If you have a diabetic cat, you know what I’m talking about. It’s the look you get when you tell someone that your cat needs insulin.
By injection
Twice a day.
That’s enough to send most folks over the edge and set them thinking that I’m either quite crazy or quite brave – and that’s before I mention the ear pricks for glucose tests. Add that little piece of information into the mix and if the arched brow hasn't made an appearance yet, it’ll pop up now for sure. That’s when I see them mentally scratch “brave” from the list and settle happily on crazy.
Oh, sure, there are a few people who are devoted to their pets that ask a few questions and nod as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to poke your cat until it bleeds a couple times a day. Others think they couldn’t possibly do it. Some are amazed that I’d go to such lengths for a mere animal. (People who have met the snarky little Isabella are likely the most amazed of all.) And there’s the contingent that thinks I’m nuts. A “cat lady.” Sort of sad and weird.
Sometimes I just don’t want to deal with the eyebrow, so I keep my mouth shut. But other times, I admit, Isabella’s diabetes is a tool. If this dinner drags on, or is deadly boring, I won’t hesitate to excuse myself, with the explanation that my cat needs her meds.
I don’t think Isabella would mind.
