You know, like people tend to do. Re-running the events of yesterday morning.
I let him out of the bathroom this morning. He stood there, then went left. Okay, this is good. Yesterday afternoon, he didn't know which way to go. He walked down the hallway, whisker close to the walls. He made it out the sliding door, tentatively stepping down.
Then, he stopped. He sniffed. He moved his head this way and that. He made his way back to where the door was open and just sat there.
Then he got up and walked over to the edge of the patio. He did not step onto the grass at all. Opie walked towards him and Skip meowed in his direction. Could he make out something? I don't know.
What I do know is that yesterday, when I let him out to potty around noon, he walked on the grass, he walked to the side of the house. He had some vision left. It was definitely off, but there was some sort of vision. I've read quite a few anecdotal stories of cats regaining their site. Some in a matter of days, some in a matter of weeks.
Time is a funny thing. This next week is going to drag. I just know it. Waiting, watching Skip's every move. This morning he was asleep on the blanket in the bathroom. I noticed during the night, he had peed in the litter box. A little later, when I had his meds ready, I saw that he'd peed on the blanket. So, that little bit of hope was gone.
A while later I was in there, cleaning up little and he woke up, walked over to the litter box and stuck his head in it. He wanted to eat. I gently guided him over to the food. He ate.
Time. It all takes time. And patience. Which has never been my strong point.
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