Winry managed to eat a disturbingly long section of window-blind cord, and it got stuck inside -- one end in her stomach, one end further down her intestines. It was cinching her intestines "like an accordion", in the words of the surgeon.
The blind cord was one of the lesser dangers to the cats in the basement, so I've moved everyone into my bedroom, where I can be sure of what they might get into and keep a closer eye in general. They will eventually adjust, but for now, I'm not really getting enough sleep. If it isn't Gonzo crying for something to do or someone to play with, it's now Winry howling her hatred of the cage. (When this happens, I take her out and put her next to me in my bed. She's never before been especially cuddly, but she gets that it's either sleeping on me or staying in the cage, so she's turning into my best friend.)
I wasn't looking to have cats again, and this is why. I can't take the guilt of letting her get hurt; I can't take not being able to make things better for her; I can't take the howling during a half-hour drive to the emergency vet. The lack of sleep and the bills are minor in comparison, but they're factors, too.
She's okay for now. And the shelter people have vanished on me, so I seem to be stuck with them all. I like them a lot, and I will take care of them ... but I'm really not good at this.
But they sure are cute.