The One Where I Am Mistaken for a Vet...

Recently we spent about...um...A LOT OF MONEY to save our Mooch. Although financially burdensome, we love our cats and are glad we did so. Now, having spent ALL of that money, you would think that perhaps the vet and the vet's office could do their job?  I mean, we ARE paying them?  No, they would prefer we do their job for them.

First example:

B asks me to drop Mooch off at the vet because they have to test his urine.  I drop him off early in the morning. The lady behind the counter looks at me like I have asked her to do the most ridiculous circus act on earth rather than what I really asked - could you take my cat like YOUR OFFICE ASKED?  She takes the cat, takes my number and assures me that they will call me the minute Mooch pees. Yep, great.  Meanwhile I am thinking, lady you are keeping him all day because I am not traveling 45 minutes from my office in the middle of the day to retrieve the cat.

Later, I get home and ask B what happened with Mooch? Well, Mooch did not pee ALL DAY. Yep, just sat in the vet's office not peeing. Did they give him water? Don't know. Did they squeeze his little bladder? Don't know. Aren't they professionals? Don't know.  I ask what the next step is. Who is taking Mooch in tomorrow?  No one says B.  The vet wants us to lock him up in the bathroom on special paper kitty litter and then collect it and drive it to them.

STOP

What?

There a few things wrong with this scenario:

1.  The cats hate to be locked up. They will cry all night long

2. The bathroom is right by our bedroom. Hence, I will cry all night long.

3. Our condo is not big enough to find a room where we would not hear him cry all night long.

4. Mooch hates paper kitty litter

5. Mooch is obviously stubborn and will not pee on demand, even after waiting 8 hours

I declare this plan to be absolutely ridiculous.  Instead, we wait two days and I take Mooch back to the vet. I tell the lady we cannot get him to pee, to which she responds "not even locking him up on the paper kitty litter?" to which I respond "nope - I guess he is really stubborn like the other day when YOU had him for 8 hours and he wouldn't pee.  Guess you will have to try again." Miraculously they got him to pee that time.

Example 2:

B asks me to go pick up cat food from the vet's office. Thanks to Mooch's ailment, the cats are both on special prescription food to ensure neither gets kidney stones in the future. And special water. Damn these cats are frickin' expensive.  So, I call the vet's office to inquire as to when they open the following day.  The lady says "oh yeah, I have your food right here for Riddler."* Great, this should be easy.  Nope.

The next day I go to pick it up early in the morning and am confronted by a different lady, the one who did not want to take my cat. Apparently she doesn't want to help me either. Upon being told that I was there to pick up food, she gives me a blank stare.  "You know food for Riddler."  Blank. With a big sigh she heaves herself off the chair walks over to some food and says "oh yes. What kind?"  What do you mean which kind?  I say "the kind that is reserved for Riddler, I don't know. It is prescription."  She says "well there are 9 different kinds of prescription."

STOP

Do I look like a vet? Do I look like or sound like I have any idea what kind of food I am there to purchase? Do you not work in the vet's office? Did we not call to reserve the food? Can you not look up my cat's records? WHY AM I ALWAYS DOING YOUR WORK FOR YOU?

I reiterate "food for Riddler."  She finally sighs, goes over to the file cabinet and declares "it must be C/P."  I say "if you say so."  She doesn't seem confident. I no longer care.  I pay $25.00 too much for the little bag and am on my way.

I am no vet.  And apparently the vet is no vet. The vet's office is no vet's office. And I am eternally stuck in a looping soundtrack of circus music.

Now because the cats were mentioned, here is a picture for you.  Mooch loves snuggling under hot towels (or rags as the case may be). Chester loves hovering over him.

*Our last name is not Riddler, but I suppose you knew that.

My Cat is a Conehead

Poor Mooch. He had it rough this weekend.  He had been acting strange, for him at least, since at least Tuesday.  This included crying at nothing, not being deterred by the feared water bottle, and lastly standing weird.  Yes, I can tell when the cat is standing strange.  He had adopted this pounce-like stance where it appeared he was stalking something but wasn't.  On Friday, while we were out to dinner,  I mention this to B.  Later that night B declares something in the house must have scared Mooch.  (By the way, B is very fond of this reasoning and I have never really seen the cats scared. He must know more than I do). 

So about 11 pm on Friday night (because nothing can really happen during normal working vet hours of course), Mooch acts super strange and steps into our recycling box and just stands there. It is way too small for him and he has never shown any interest in this box at all. B insists it is perfectly normal. Suddenly, like some cheesy Lifetime movie, all the pieces of the puzzle hit me at once - the crying, the weird stance and the excessive licking of his private parts that day (that I just remembered then).  I immediately announce that Mooch is going to pee in the box.  Much to B's dismay, that is exactly what happened.  A phone call later and B is taking Mooch to the emergency vet where it is discovered he has a urinary tract problem, a lot of kidney stones and may need surgery.

The surgery discussion occurs the next day at which point we then have to determine how much we love Mooch.  Pretty bad, huh? But emergency vets and sex change surgeries are expensive. Mooch, however, is worth it.  And as of today, he does not need the surgery.  The emergency vet kept him all weekend and did some procedures to help him.  Now he has to eat fancy food and distilled water.  Still an expensive cat that one.

Now the funniest part of this story is Mooch's arrival home.  Oh, and maybe the fact that Chester did not miss him one bit.  Not at all!  He walked around and slept like he was the king of the castle (which he was).  B remarked about how animals are supposed to miss their companions. Not Chester though. I guess he was tired of being bullied.  So in walks Mooch with a CONE on his head. Too funny.  He is running up and down the hall and Chester looks genuinely surprised that has even returned. B then informs me that we have to keep them separated.  Uh huh. That will work.  

That left Mooch locked up in the back den looking very pitiful and sad.  When the door opened he shot out of there and straight for the litter box. Of course the cone prevented his entering, but Mooch was determined and just barged in. I informed B that he was not going to be able to come back out, but I was wrong. He barged right back out and immediately ran into the wall (no depth perception without whiskers and all).

I tried to get a picture of Mooch in his cone but he is having none of that.  He looks so pitiful and every time I try to take it he just rubs his cone up against my leg and makes me feel guilty at attempting to find humor in his situation. Mooch tells me that he would rather I post a regal looking pic.  So here you go:

Meanwhile, Chester? Yeah, he is TERRIFIED of Mooch.  After crying all night long to be let in the back room (and being squirted with a water bottle 5 times throughout the night - yeah, I got NO sleep), he is finally let in the room, only to take one look at Mooch in that cone and hiss at him!  Chester NEVER hisses at Mooch. He then backed away and ran down the hall. Now whenever Mooch is let out randomly, Chester hides.  That is how odd that cat looks in the cone. Although I will say Mooch is styling as his cone is gray, just like his coat.  

Since Chester would be jealous that Mooch is getting all of the attention despite the fact that Mooch is the sick one, here is a picture of Chester as King of the Castle and apparently almost as long as I am on the couch: