Just when we thought we were too healthy and too "smart" for this, swine flu has stuck its ugly snout into my world.

My company graciously offers flu shots each year at the office and I just got mine last Thursday. My grandson Cade got his regular flu vaccine -- the nasal spray seems like a really cool way to go. However, his doctor doesn't have the swine flu vaccine yet. So far it has gone mostly to health care workers and public servants.

So when the little girl in Evans, I think, died from complications that began with swine flu, I began to look more closely at the symptoms.

Friday, when Cade began to run a fever, we got on line to reaffirm what we thought we knew. The biggest thing was that Cade was having no problem with his breathing. So I dismissed the thought of swine flu.

However, when the fever persisted for two days, Cat decided to take advantage of her doctor's Sunday office hours for peace of mind.

And aren't we glad she did.

Cade was diagnosed with swine flu -- apparently the only strain of flu currently in the U.S., according to Cade's doctor.

First Scott was concerned about exposing our household to Cade -- particularly with my mother living with us. But we assured him that he is probably at greater risk than we. Apparently the epidemic of 1918 provided my mother's generation with antibodies that were then passed to my generation. It is only with the current 20- to 30-something generations that the antibodies have been so diluted that a vaccine is again needed.

Besides, Cade was here all day Friday -- with a fever -- and some of Saturday. He sips from my straw. He hugs and kisses. He shares cookies (only wanting the icing out of the Oreo). I assured Cat and Scott that it's too late to worry about whether Cade might share germs with us.

But here is an important tip if a 2-year-old in your life gets swine flu. The doctor explained to Cat that the medication -- Tamiflu, I think -- comes only in capsule form. He told them to open the capsule and put it in applesauce and feed Cade the applesauce.

OK, think about this. What are the chances that you can convince a 2-year-old that he should eat applesauce on command -- and that he must eat all of it?

This immediately reminded me of trying to pill the cat. Dogs are easy. Wrap a "horse pill" in a piece of cheese or a slice of turkey and the dog will swallow the whole thing and then think, "Hey, was there something good for me in there? Oh, it's OK. I can always throw it up later." A cat, on the other hand is impossible. Try hiding medicine in the tuna and the cat won't come near it. Wrap it in cheese and the cat will take the "package" in his mouth and swallow the entire piece of cheese and spit out the pill, intact and unblemished. I used to have a syringe-looking device that worked best. You slip the pill into the end of it, pry the cat's mouth open, stick the syringe as far down the cat's throat as you can without causing a gag reflex, then push the plunger, hold the cat's mouth closed -- and if that doesn't work, put water on his lips while you still have his mouth closed. Obviously, this is at least a two-person job -- and that doesn't account for the ever-present claw-factor.

All this fleeted through my mind as we went to pick up the capsules from the pharmacy.

Enter the angels of mercy. When they brought out the prescription, it was a suspension with a dropper. The pharmacist said, "We're so glad you didn't come back right away. It took us about 40 minutes to get everything squared away with the doctor." She explained all she could think of was how impossible it would be to give a 2-year-old a capsule. "We called to see if it would be OK to put it in a liquid form," she said. Between the pharmacist and the doctor they worked out the proper amounts. So we came home and Cade took the medicine without question.

I commended the pharmacist for thinking about the application in the real world. It will make life so much easier in the next few days.

And we don't have to "pill the kid."