Poor Ben is sick as a dog.

I’ve got him on the antibiotics, and I don’t know what else I can really do, but he’s definitely miserable. He’s mostly stopped the mad sneezing, but continues to be snorfly and his eyes are watering, which makes mine water in sympathy. His breathing has the cloggy sound of a stuffed up nose, and he’s fairly lethargic and spending most of the day either in bed or atop the cable box (although he’s still able to get up, use the litterbox, grab some wet food, smack Angus, sit on the desk, and sneeze emphatically into my food. Thanks, big guy.) And he still resists being pilled, thank god.

But I spent last night exiled to the side of the bed, and he didn’t get up once, just laid there, and even though he doesn’t have the death rattle breathing that makes me think his lungs are filling up, he’s obviously feeling crappy.

I’m trying not to freak out–when I get sick, I don’t expect to be made better instantly, and I figure that even with the antibiotics, it’s just got to run its course, it’s only been about four days, and he’s only been acting sick for two. Still, it’s my Ben. So I’m taking him in today–maybe they can up the antibiotics, or at least reassure me that no, he’s not developing pneumonia, which is my major concern.

Fortunately Angus continues to bounce around and appears healthy as a little horse.

Sick cat is not good on top of painful tax bill, but hey, it’s only money.