If you’re easily icked, I’d suggest going elsewhere right about now. Go read about a well-behaved cat. I’m sure one exists somewhere in the universe, if only in the eyes of a love-blind cat person. Otherwise, feel free to stay.
Our sweet little Yowler has been having a bad week. Intensely cranky this past weekend, he alternated between aggressive and listless, and seemed off his food. He had issues with his cat-box. He didn’t wake me a half-hour early for our traditional joust de yawn that precedes my official 5:30am wake-up time.
All signs pointed to another rousing round of kitty stress, and the fun vet bills and car trips that go with it.
So… off we went to the vets on Monday with both kitties in tow (may as well get them both checked out, just in case). An hour later, armed with knowledge and an assignment, if not the foresight to realize that this would end badly, we headed home by way of Bosley’s. Our assignment? To isolate his Yowliness until he provided a urine sample we could take back to the vets for analysis.
He’d had so much water, we actually thought this would be easy.
What the hell were we thinking?
He was indignant at his incarceration, to put it mildly. There was howling, yowling, clawing and random thumps as he threw his little body against the door in protest. All within the first ten minutes.
Oh, this did NOT bode well.
We ended up pulling shifts, sitting in the bathroom with him while we waited for him to do his thing in the nice new box we’d purchased.
… and passed…
… and passed…
… but the urine, it did not.
By 2am I was so tired I was punch drunk, muttering curses under my breath, wondering if threats of bodily harm could scare him into doing the wee dance, and thinking very dark thoughts about the darling boy, who I’d sent off to bed at midnight since there was no reason for both of us to stay up and be miserable.
By 2:15 I’d tossed in the towel, thrown some litter in the box and let the yowler out of confinement. How I made it to bed without passing out or crashing into something is beyond me.
Tuesday afternoon he went back to the vets, showed himself to be nothing if not predictable in his stubbornness, and had to be left there for a few hours before he’d give up the goods.
Wednesday evening we were out at a photo shoot, and got a message from the vets that the results were in and there were a few things they wanted to discuss. By the time we called back, all the vets were gone and we were asked to call back the next day.
Called back in the morning, but no vets were yet available. Someone would call us. We waited the whole day.
By the time we finally got the results, I’d simply shut down, and decided that no matter what, I was not going to freak out.
The end result? Someone has to go back in two weeks to get blood tests to make sure his kidneys are in good shape.
This would be me breathing normally again.
And oh yeah – he decided to wake me at 3:40 this morning for breakfast and play time. I think he’s feeling better.