He, and Hiss, are okay about the main food change, but are in denial about the change from Temptations to Medi-treats. Medi-treats clearly taste like utter crap, and are no treat at all. They won't touch them. Whereas Temptations, oh yeah, those were kitty crack.
He is also not responding well to having to spend an entire day at the vet's once a week, having them jab him in the same place every hour to draw blood and check his glucose. I can't say I blame him. I can say he blames me.
It hurts, but I understand.
When he was kitten, if something scared him, say a loud truck roaring by outside the apartment, he'd run and hide behind my legs.
Pheen was feral. His mother was a barn cat who had never been around humans and never trusted anybody, and he was stubborn ball of evil energy who, like so many of the young, was constantly trying to come up with new brilliant ways to maim or kill himself. We spent most of our early time together arguing, each determined to out stubborn the other. We would spend hours exchanging earnest non-stop discussions on how things would be. Here was our common communication: he would swipe at me and I would tap his nose and he would swipe at me so I would tap his nose and...
And yet, when Bad Things happened, he completely trusted me to protect him. Why not? I wouldn't take crap from him, so hey, I sure wouldn't take it from anybody. I was the scariest thing in the world. Nothing and nobody would dare mess with me.
The downside to his utter faith in me is that when Bad Things won't go away, it's my fault. And much worse, it's my on-purpose.
So, horribly, as he's been feeling better, he's stopped being an anxious sooky who wants more attention for comfort, and has instead gone to I am avoiding and loathing you, for you are having me tortured, you sick heinous bitch.
It's miserable enough loading him into his cat carrier, trying not to sob, with a feeling in my chest like Buffy has just staked me, and being alone and worried all day, knowing he's at the vet's, where he refuses to eat or drink, and he's getting jabbed, jabbed, jabbed, leaving his poor arm black and angry, like he's been beaten.
But then he comes home, and I'm so happy he's back, but Hissy again goes extreme bonus crazy and keeps trying to kill him, because he smells like hospital and she refuses to recognise she's ever known that stinking *thing*, and he wants nothing to do with me, because I make his pain. I could save him, I should save him, and I don't. It's My Fault.
Last night, he drew some of my blood. He hasn't done that since he was kitten.
And I can't blame him, because I can't make it better, and that is my fault.
They adjusted his dose again yesterday. That means he has to go back again next Monday. All day, all suffering. I know he has to. I know this is the only way to get him better. I know that he'll blame me even harder for the betrayal, and the hurt.
I can take it. I can. For him. I just so wish I could take it for him...