Thursday, March 12, 2009


I just got back from the vet, with the cat.

The cat, who normally follows me down the stairs in the morning, meowing *talking* to get some treats. Talking all morning. Nudging and talking. Drinking water out of a cup on the bathroom counter.

Yesterday she did not follow me down stairs. She didn't leave the bedroom until who knows when. When we got home she was on the floor next to her cat perch curled up in the bovine position. She let the dogs lick her ears and poke their wet noses on her head without hissing a fit. Very unlike the cat.

I took her upstairs and put her on my bed. She has not left our bedroom since.

Obviously something is wrong with her.

So, the softy that I am, made an appointment for her for today as I didn't want her suffering. (softy)

The prodded and poked her, took blood and gave a shot. They gave me some bland food for animals suffering stomach upsets and charged me one hundred ninety one dollars and sixty cents.

All I get from this is a call tomorrow to find out the results of the blood test(s), the hope that my cat will be just fine even though she is eleven years old and weighs 6 pounds, and the delightful smell of cat urine that is stuck in my nostrils because I've changed all of my clothing and scrubbed like a doctor pre-surgery up to my elbows. The urine that they needed for an analysis that I was hoping they would offer to hand-squeeze out of the towel she urinated on the drive to their office.


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