Sunday is *not* a day of rest here at the International House of
Ancodia! Ohellno. Today I *tried* to finish all this stuff for this
semester's classes (and failed), tried to clean my bathroom (epic
fail), got all my pillows washed (score), and got the three babies
vaccinated (1/3 fail). Weebie does not need vaccination until August.
I went to my old standby, Dr Superhero -- the one Chrissy introduced
me to so I could get a Rescue Group discount from him when I first
started TNR-ing the cats at Eviljob, the one who would have trusted me
enough to give me that-which-shall-not-be-named (I have since been
advised, threatened really, to not EVER speak about this offer to
ANYONE by another rescue lady here, so I will not; there are a lot of
wagons ready to rally around Dr S, and I would like to believe I am
one of them) to tranq Mehitabel with if I could have gotten my hands
on a housecat tranquiliser gun, the one who *did* give me pre-surgical
anaesthesia drugs, ACE-something and Valium to try to knock her out
(Mehitabel was woozy, but still evaded my net. True to my word though,
I stayed with her -- trying to catch her -- for a little over six
hours until the drugs wore off), the one who is open twenty-four hours
(mostly) and who took my freshly-trapped ferals for rapidspeuter
service at a discount (thanks to Chrissy...ilu, Chrissy) and gave them
all vaccinations on the cheap as well. I made an emergency appointment
for Saturday evening (Dr S's shift; he runs and owns the place, but is
of course not doing this alone -- he is a super*hero*, not
super*human*) because I thought Squoosh might have a respiratory
infection, then I decided to save myself the $85 emergency fee and
make a regular appointment on Sunday night, 'cos Squoosh was not
sneezing, coughing, or anythinging, I just thought his purr sounded
deeper than normal.
stfu. I am *not* batshit.
I was worried because I did not vaccinate the three in 2008 because I
was busy, forgot, whatever. Okay, I SUCK, and I am a BAD KITTY MOMMY.
There. Happy? But they are indoor-only cats who NEVER come even close
to getting out-of-doors (I close off my foyer, largely for privacy
reasons because otherwise any random salesperson or Jehovah's Witness
can see all the way into my family room, most of my living room, and
some of my kitchen, none of which is their business, and so the cats
cannot even get near the door), and I am always so super-careful with
them that Meg tells me I am batshit on a regular basis. Plus, I have
been told by more than one vet that cats do not *have* to be
vaccinated every twelve months, that you can go a little over, kind of
like how you do not have to change the oil in your car every three
thousand miles. But missing 2008, I was a little worried in case
Squoosh did have an infection, cos there is all kinds of stuff out
there, and with my luck, it is some especially virulent Calicivirus,
and is about to kill him. So I decided to get them vaccinated and
checked out tonight (Sunday), also on Dr Superhero's shift.
Squoosh is fine. He has no *anything*, not even fungus (he enjoyed the
sweep with the black light, though), so he and Rhett were vaccinated
for everything from soup to nuts, including the droppy-stuff in the
nose, some of which he snorked into his eye and loudly declared,
'BABY, THIS BULLSHIT!'...then calmed right down as if nothing had ever
happened. We are such a cute baby!
Cookie, however, turned out to be running a fever of 104; Dr Superhero
said no vaccinations for her today. Then I noticed she was doing that
upset-stomach lip licking thing (back when I was going to Dr Vet, they
diagnosed her as having a sensitive stomach after she ate some seafood
I brought home and puked for a week and came down with pancreatitis,
and a week of Tagamet and antibiotics fixed her), so Dr S put her on
Clindamycin, gave her a 100 (ml or cc, or are those the ones that are
the same?) bolus of water to break her fever, a shot of tagamet, and a
shot of clindamycin, baytril, B-12, and vitamin C. But she did get a
just-in-case de-worming (my babies do NOT have worms, I just believe
in being better safe than sorry) as did Rhett and Squoosh. Then I give
her Clindamycin 2x/dy for tomorrow, half a Tagamet once, and bring her
back Tuesday to see if the fever has gone down; if so, she can be
vaccinated. And Squoosh and Rhett also each had shots of the mix of
Clindamycin, Baytril, B-12, and C, just in case. Dr S said that
usually works really well, and otherwise our alternative is to run a
pack of fishing-expedition tests on Cookie to see what comes up, and
in the end it may just be pancreatitis again from her having sneaked
people food when I wasn't looking, in which case we would do exactly
what we are doing now, or something more serious might turn up on a
test (he mentioned like FIP, though I doubt she has FIP only being
unvaccinated about eight months), in which case she will still be sick
come Tuesday, and I need to really start worrying, because Squoosh,
Rhett, and possibly Weebie may have it. Sigh.
Now on the 'up' side, Dr S figures that probably Cookie is fine; he
said she's clearly alert and responsive (I'd not noticed *anything*
wrong with her at all!), not sore in the tum, not vomiting, no
diarrhoea, she is eating and drinking well, and might just have a cut
or fanging somewhere (from tussling with Rhett or Squoosh) we cannot
see that has become infected, or the beginnings of a bladder
infection...all of which are treated the same route: shot of
Clindamycin, Baytril, B-12, and C, and water for the fever.
And what a good little Cookie -- she did not have a single attack of
nerves whilst there! Normally she is very skittish away from home or
around strangers -- she will freak out and start trying to kill you
pretty easily if she is spooked; I think it is a hold-over from her
feral kitten days, so I just try to not spook her. For example,
beeping things spook her (why? who knows?), so I try to keep those to
a minimum in my home. I mean, she cannot help it, and the little baby
clearly thinks her life is in danger. I just hope she will some day
realise that she is safe, and vet visits like today really reinforce
my belief that this will one day occur. Yay.
I had to ask Meg to come with me to help manage the cats -- I have
*nightmares* about something horrible happening, like my tripping and
knocking the cat carrier open in the parking lot -- and I tried to
tell her about some of the really cool things Dr S has done, like
leaving for two whole weeks to volunteer helping pets after Katrina,
and all the things he has done for this and that group. Meg was
uninterested, to say the least (being her sister, I can see through
the feigning polite interest schtick), though she did ask me why I did
not go to Dr S, and I explained to her about having heard about one of
his relief vets from Baby Bat -- BB went to her mother's house, and
her mother's 800-year old dog was on the kitchen floor, convulsing. BB
phoned her mother at work to ask what to do (BB is a little too much
of a follower, imho; I can understand my friend asking what to do
about my Harry, but family is different, plus Harry wasn't
convulsing), and her mom told her to bring the dog to their vet -- Dr
S -- and have him put to sleep (the dog was terminally ill, I forget
with what, but he was like, twenty years old, seriously), and that she
was driving right over to Dr S's. Well, Dr S was off then, and BB saw
this guy, we'll call him Dr T, so as to not tax my brain too much.
Baby Bat said that Dr T took an attitude with her from the start, and
refused to euthanise the still-convulsing dog because Dr T had never
seen the dog, only Dr S, which to me sounds ludicrous. Not knowing
what to do, BB said that she started screaming at the top of her lungs
-- just howling; I have seen her fitting like that over other things,
so I have no doubt that she would, and she should be embarrassed over
it, so why volunteer such a humiliating falsehood? -- and then one of
Dr S's vet techs came in with the euthanasia shot and administered it.
BB said this Dr T was in the surgery or kennel area (this place is on
a small farm, and it is HUGE for a vet's office) literally yelling at
the tech to get out of the room, that they were in huge trouble,
fired, and so on; BB said she asked the tech if they were getting in
trouble, and the tech said that they would have Dr S's ok later and
everything would be fine, they did not know why Dr T was doing this,
etc...
Butsoanyway.
So I explained to Meg that when I left Dr Vet's, I had intended to
come here simply out of convenience (it is very close, plus I can make
appointments for nine in the evening on Sundays), plus Dr S loves
animals more than I can explain; I mean, he calls them *people*.
Seriously. But Baby Bat's story scared the shit out of me -- at the
time, Romeo was still alive, and as a result of BB's experience, I
made damn certain that Romeo had all his euthanasia paperwork already
filled out and sitting in his file on his very first visit to the new
vet (after we left Dr Vet's), and that Doc (the new vet) and all his
staff knew that *anyone* bringing Romeo in for euthanisation was ok
with me, just in case someone stopped by and Romeo had crashed -- so,
I explained to Meg, with Romeo still alive, I was worried that I might
have an emergency that could not wait for Dr S to come available, and
what am I supposed to do to be merciful to my cat -- strangle him with
my bare hands?
Yes, I do worry about things like this.
And I do have Dr S's cell number (one holiday season he told me to
phone him if he was not on instead of taking Romeo to the *actual*
emergency vet, because they charge so damned much and getting someone
good is often a crapshoot there, and he knew how much Romeo meant to
me), but he gave it to me for one specific reason, and that was not to
just ring him any old time. It is a really smart move to give a
doctor's child your cell number; after living through all the
cut-short or even solitary birthday parties, abbreviated
Thanksgivings, and Xmas Interruptus, a doctor's kid will phone you
NEVER; off means OFF.
Meg, incidentally, says that I am too neurotic about my cats, and Baby
Bat is a narcissistic, psychopathic drama queen. I am just trying to
give fair voice to opposing sides...although I do agree with her about
Baby Bat. Sad, but true.
Anyway, so when we finally got in, Dr S was running back and forth
like he always does; we were sandwiched in between a dog with a
chronic cough (pulmonary oedema; Lasix, for those keeping score at
home; owner, ironically, was just dx'd with the same thing. Meg
marvelled over how pets mirror their owners, I pointed out that
someone's clearly been sharing table scraps for twelve years with
their twelve-year old dog, and twelve years of eating McDonald's and
beer has packed *everyone's* heart in fluid ...and Meg says *I* am
illogical...hmmph), a guinea pig with a hurt leg (spending the night @
Dr S's tonight, we both laughed over the call over the intercom to
prep an overnight bed in the kennel for a guinea pig; a whole cage? No
one has an empty desk drawer and a shoebox?), and another dog with
what sounded like it was an intestinal problem (too far down the hall,
sorry -- could not hear). As he left each time, he would tell us to
'get the next person out [of the carrier]' and he would be right back.
Meg cracked up over that; she had not believed me, I guess (back when
I was trapping ferals nightly, once I came in with two, and Dr S got a
tech to make room in the kennel area for 'two more people'; I adored
him on the spot). When he came back, we were talking about all kinds
of things, and I could tell that Meg thought he was weird, but she
later asked me if I had dated him or something (erm, no, and do not
dare say that around Chrissy, or she will go crazy) and, considering
that I said no to the first question, if I thought he was trying to
pick me up because he asked me if I were married yet or in a
relationship, to which I reminded Meg that was because we were talking
about how pets round out a person's life, and how Elvis might be alive
today if he had a Siamese cat or two to tell him that he was really
fucking up.
Seriously -- can you imagine the humiliation and extreme reality check
of waking up in a pool of your own grossness to see a Measle staring
at you like, 'Have you no pride, Babe? Eew.'? That would have set
Elvis back on track. Yep, yep.
Butsoanyway.
I fell asleep composing this, and now I have to do that Conquering the
World Thing, and I have to give Cookie her Clindamycin and half a tab
of Tagamet. I have already checked on her (Cookie holds grudges, and
is currently not talking to me; when I found her, she promptly climbed
up high on the cat tree and sat down with her back to me), and her
fever seems to have gone down. Sigh...wish me luck today; this is
going to be a hellish week, and not just because Cookie hates me at
the moment. I was awakened by a text message from a manager at Eviljob
calling out and asking me to do eleventy-billion things for him. Pfft.
And man, am I hungry; I think I forgot to eat yesterday. Argh.
