The results are back.
But, more importantly, so is the lion.
First, the sub-stellar: Webster’s heart disease has progressed. As Denise put it delicately, Webby is in the “very very early” stages of congestive heart failure.
I responded to this in a measured and prudent, exceedingly adult way. Which is to say, I flipped into full-on telenovela mode, gripped my heart, stumbled backward into a wall and keened, “Is this a BIG TERRIBLE THING??!?” I began free-associating and spitting out all the names of cats we’ve lost to heart disease through the years: “Is it like Tails? Is it like Sammy? Is it like–”
“No,” Denise reassured me. “We caught it early.”
I then did the vocal and emotional equivalent of gripping her by the collar. “Tell me the honest truly true truth and really real reality. Could we have years? Are years a possibility? Can I reasonably hope for years? Multiple years? Twelve-month periods in succession?”
And then came the world that makes this day outsparkle anything in Tiffany’s: “Yes.”
Yes. Yes to years. Yes to hope. Yes to increased medication. Yes to the ginormous hug that Webby gave me the moment I wrapped him in my arms.
Yes to roaring back.
And yes and amen and 10,000 thanks to all of you who have called and emailed and prayed and otherwise loved Webby and me today. Our cup runneth over.
We love you. Thank You, God.