That (Miss) Billie is such a damn finicky eater. If there is anything besides Science Diet (dry) Hairball formula in her dish, she will glare at me and walk away. Because of this, I don't have to worry about what she'll get into when she gets bored and/or hungry.

The other thing I'm thankful for is that, somehow, Simon can metabolize chocolate without dropping dead. Because when I came home last evening, I found that he had helped himself to my Triple Chocolate Breakfast Cake from Specialty's that I had set aside for this morning's brekkie. Mind you, I had that thing sealed in a Ziploc bag and stashed wayyyy in the back of the shelves in the kitchen so he wouldn't find it. But, oh, a bored, chocoholic cat is a Very Bad Thing when I'm not around to supervise his every move.

He managed to not only find the cake, but he somehow got it off of the shelf, miraculously without noticeably disturbing anything else on the shelf. He dragged the bag into the living room, tore a hole in it and ate about half of the cake.

OK, just about every book on cats that's out there says that chocolate is deadly toxic to cats. The Dog and Cat First Aid book says to induce vomiting and haul his ass straight to the vet. (Well, it doesn't say exactly that. I'm paraphrasing.) According to the texts, even small amounts of chocolate (baker's is worse than milk chocolate) can cause heart failure and all sorts of other calamity that I don't even want to think about right now. Well, this wasn't the first time Simon got into chocolate and the worst that happened before was a bit of intestinal upset. But he hadn't eaten as much as he did last night, so I was very freaked out. I phoned the 24-hour emergency vets down in San Leandro. They asked what he ate, about when he ate it, how much he weighed and how he was now. They recommended bringing him in (but I'm guessing that was to cover themselves in case he got really sick later). But they said if he was okay at the time, that I didn't need to rush him right over, rather, I could just keep a close eye on him and bring him in if he gets sick.

Since this emergency vet's office basically siphons $90 off of the debit card as I walk through the front door, I elected to keep Simon home and watch him closely. I tried to not be too freaky but caught myself on several occasions wondering if he was having symptoms. "He NEVER sleeps on that spot on the carpet! Does he? Is he laying there because he's lethargic? That's a symptom. It's in the book." And then, when he didn't want to settle down in bed and go to sleep I worried that the chocolate had induced the hyperactivity that would be a marker for heart failure. After hyperventilating for several minutes (me, not Simon), I realized, DUH!!! He's on a sugar high! Still, even though Simon really was just fine, I had a fitful night, never really sleeping. Every time he stirred, I sat bolt upright, worried that he was having a seizure. And (I continue to do this today) every time I heard him scratch around his litter box, I sprinted into the bathroom to monitor his, ahem, output.

This afternoon, I'm very pleased (and relieved) to report that Simon remains Just Fine. Thus far, I think we'll get through his chocoholic rampage with just a dickey tummy (though his appetite is completely normal). And for this I am extremely thankful.

But the last 20 hours have made me realize one thing: If I ever do have any (human) children, I will probably never be able to sleep again.

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