Poor M is still wretchedly under the weather. He was taken to the doctor today – I gave him lots of hope by chirping “antibiotics will fix it, antibiotics will fix it”…
Apparently the doctor said antibiotics would fix it, if it wasn’t a virus that can be fixed by nothing but time. D’oh. It’s bloody hot. M has carked it in front of the fan. I am being a good cat owner, and took both cats into the vet this morning for a checkup (their first since we moved here).
The vet, strangely enough, used ‘doctor-speak’. He actually discussed the cats using the royal ‘we’. Is that third person removed? Who knows… So he looked down at Mow, who was trying to render himself and his accompanying fur, invisible on the examination bench, and said;
“We don’t want to be here, do we?”
I looked around for this friend of his he was referring to, but found no one.
“OK then,” he said, grabbing Mow by the scruff of the neck, “now we won’t mind this too much.”
And in a rapid blur of vetinary karate, he squeezed, peered, innoculated, worm tableted, and shoved Mow back at me, smiling engagingly.
Saffy, on the other hand, came out of the carry box and ponced, purring provocatively, around the examination bench. He rubbed his head against the vet, then came over to me and allowed me some affection as well. It was almost embarrassing.
“We don’t mind it here at all!” crooned the vet, performing more cat karate, “We have a very nice personality, don’t we…”
Thankfully, the royal ‘we’ was good for something. It reminded me of wee. Which reminded me of my worry about how much water Saf has taken to drinking, and how I suspect kidney problems. So I relayed this to the vet, who had a go at putting a needle through Saffy in some magical manner that would draw some urine from his bladder, but despite the fact I’d watched Saf chugging back the fluids just before stuffing him in the cat carrier, there was not enough there for the vet to nab. So I had to leave Saf there for the day, in order for him to build up enough wee to be stolen from him for testing.
I was a bit apprehensive about going to pick him up, but apparently the tests are neither positive or negative, they’re borderline.
“So just keep a good eye on him,” instructed the vet.
“And if we noticably lose some weight [I looked down at my thighs, and quickly glanced away] or seem to be going off our food, then bring him back in for some blood tests.”
Even though he’d told me this morning that blood tests aren’t much good for kidney problems, as they only indicate something is wrong if it’s really wrong, I nodded dutifully.
*The cow reference is because of my recycling rant, about which I am feeling a little bit guilty…now that M is still ill. Bugger.