Sounds Like Surf Letch, But It’s Not
I came home from San Diego to a sick cat. Barfing up everything he ate. Lethargic. Just. Not. Right. Sir Fletch is sick and I don’t like it!
I’ve been watching him closely since Wednesday evening, and while there has been improvement, he’s still not himself.
Frankly, I’m worried as hell. He’s still a young’n. He’s only seven!
He’s done so well this last year; losing weight, becoming more active, and generally just being a super dude. Now? This is not good.
There are days when I struggle to get up to feed Fletch, but I get up nonetheless. He comforts me when I’m hurting most. He’s my little Bubba.
Seems weird to ask for prayers for a cat, but he’s so much more than “a cat” — he’s my fuzzy lovekin. If you’re so inclined, please send some healing vibes his way. Thanks.
Signed, an internally panicking guardian