I have two cats, Rochester (Chester) and Emmeline (Emmy) . When they were babies I said they'd grow into their names...and they did. They are 3 years old, black and white. Neither is a lap cat, but Chester is a Momma's boy and Emmy is a flirt. They are my solace and comfort. I got them a month before my Dad died and I can't tell you how many times I'd lay on the floor in abject grief and one of them would come and cuddle me. I don't know how many times their little furry bodies sopped up my tears, and so quickly afterwords made me giggle . They are my babies.
On Monday I came home and Emmy was attempting to come to the door to greet me (they greet me at the door like dogs do...hehe). Her little foot was swollen to three times the size normal and she could barely walk on it. I raced her up to the vet (upsetting Chester in the process, for as the were on opposite sides of my apartment door, they were both crying).
At the vet, he declared that she'd need an xray. And to be sedated. And to stay overnight. I gave her a cuddle, and left, feeling like a horrible Mom. (You have to understand, I am freaked at the thought of losing them before a ripe old age...and in the 5 minutes it took for me to drive home, I'd convinced myself it was a cancerous tumor I'd missed seeing and she was dying...not rational, I know, but irrational fears aren't supposed to be.) hehe
I got home, Chester was hiding under the bed (no kidding, talk about stress). I poured myself a baileys and milk (I hardly ever drink and not on a work night) and lay in the bath to unwind. The vet phoned, it was a sprain and not a break. I could get her the next day. So I went into work early and arranged to leave early. My thinking being that if I got her home and the both of them settled, the better we'd all sleep.
I got to the vet, paid the bail and the receptionist/assistant ("cow" okay that's not a cow emoticon but I couldn't find one and this works. hehe) went to get her. Now at this point in the tale, I must backtrack a little. My kittens have a history of respiratory illness...they had them as tiny kittens and I was told by the vet that they'd be susceptible all their lives. No biggie...they have had 3 or 4 'colds' in their 3 years and each time they need eye drops and antibiotics...10 days worth. The last time I was dealing with that, they'd had a cycle that was a day apart, so I was doing the 'take one to the vet, then the next day take the other' thing. At the end of the first week of meds (which run out at 7 days) I called the vet to see if I could pick up the new meds. The 'cow' gave me a hassle saying that they weren't over yet (one's were and the other's weren't...I knew they'd give me 7 more days worth and the cats would only need 4 days max of the second round). Well at the end of that first week, I asked for both their meds. The 'cow' didn't want me to have them, first because it was 'too soon' and the meds would expire before I could use all the second batch up (didn't matter), and then because she didn't get that they'd started different dates. She argued and argued.
Finally the vet sided with me and gave me what I wanted...and the 'cow' was NOT pleased. So now, I take my girl in, no appointment (it is a drop in clinic) and give the particulars. She acts like because this hurt foot had only happened that day that I was pushing the panic button...and tries to put me off that it'll be a long wait. Of course, the vet sees me in 5 minutes, checks Emmy in overnight and this 'cow' is once again thwarted.
Like I don't know my cats. HMPH.
Anyway, so I pay my $$ to get her out, and the 'cow' goes into the back. I'm standing there with a man with a puppy, and a woman with her cat in a carrier, waiting to pay to leave. From the back comes this god-awful howling/yowling of a VERY pissed off cat. The woman says "oh must be a cat having a urinalysis" (if you've never heard a cat having it's inflamed bladder pressed on to express urine, you've never heard mad...). I said "no, that's my female." A minute later the 'cow' opens the exam door and asks me to come get my cat. The 'cow' is visibly agitated. (Okay let's think...the cats that come here will probably a) not like being there vs home and b) pick up on your agitation.) Cow.
I get back there to see my poor little girl pressed up against the back of the cage, with two towels almost totally covering her. The 'cow' tells me that I may want to use a towel because Emmy's peed on everything. I'm like, this cat doesn't like being picked up, but suffers it, and has never been so wound up that she's lost bladder control. I put a finger in to let her smell me and she hissed...until she realized, combined with my voice talking to her, that it was "Mommy." Again the 'cow' is trying to force a towel on me, and I'm ignoring her, as my only focus is to calm my poor terrified cat down some. So I'm cuddling her, we're both covered in pee, stinky, and she's now more agitated than mad, but she's calm enough for me to drive her home.
5 minutes later she's home, eating, drinking like a fiend from her fountain, getting cuddles like mad and happy to be home with me and Chester . And I'm considering making a voodoo doll of the 'cow.'
Her paw is much better, she's been taking her anti-inflammatories well, and while it's bothering her stomach a bit (keeps throwing up), she can move and stuff pretty good.
And thus ends another adventure in the life of my kitties.
The End.