Late last week, Electra, one of the founding members of the Cat Army, exhibited some very disturbing symptoms that necessitated a midnight run to an emergency vet. Of her fourteen years, thus far she has has only had one real medical situation–eleven years ago. And I’ve been pleasantly spoiled by her good health and pointy nose in my ear every morning since.

For the first time she didn’t wake me up in the morning, wasn’t scratching the door when I returned from work. She sat in the middle of the hallway meowing like the wounded still stranded on the battlefield. Usually when a cat’s behavior changes drastically, something is wrong; they make their discomfort known. That’s what I learned during her last disaster.

Fortunately a nearby 24/7 animal hospital diagnosed her quickly and began a course of antibiotics. Instead of having to administer–read lose fingers to biting–tiny pills down a very agile and recalcitrant cat’s throat three times a day, science delivered its second miracle of the night.

A single injection that delivered bacteria zapping goodness for ten days. It cost three times as much as the pills. And I didn’t care.

Because my cat. Got. Better.