he has some kind of kidney disease, though now i'm not sure if it's officially kidney disease until we retest him after the antibiotics. my vet doesn't feel very ... thorough? in her explanations. and she has this way of talking into the phone where i imagine the phone must be slipping off her shoulder every thirty seconds and muffling creatinine levels and blood in the urine until i point out i can't hear her. and i wonder how she hasn't corrected whatever this technicality is yet, considering she must make lots of phone calls every day. she's also one of those doctors who make you feel like an asshole for asking a question. she answers with a 'well, you know' intonation. kind of exasperated. maybe like that pediatrician we decided to stop seeing after violet was born because i was tired of feeling like her middle schooler.
last week, i desired strongly to have been the inventor of pill pockets. those gross little cylinder-shaped cat treats that give you a small amount of real estate for squishing a pill into. god, a brilliant idea.
oskar was having super fun times with his pill pockets. he's a treats-based cat. one morning, the pill fell straight out of it, but he was having such a good time, he just scooped it up and ate that, too. naked as the day it was manufactured.
somewhere along the way, he stopped inhaling his old pockets and discovered there was a not-tasty center. he began meticulously eating his pocket so that he peeled off layer by layer until the pocket was gone and the pill was there on the floor in a disgusting jam of saliva and dead animal phantoms.
he even managed to evacuate the half of a small pill from the pill pocket. like some kind of magician.
i turned to the internet and it showed me a vet pilling a cat so calm, i wasn't sure it was alive. she'd gently squeeze its jaws, gently open the bottom drawer, and just chatter away about pilling cats while that catue (that's cat + statue) just sat there. motionless. anyone with a cat like that sure as shit don't need to video on how to pill a cat.
i tried this with oskar. i learned he is part wild ferret. his bones are made of rubber. his anti-pilling resolve made of steel. i suffered an impalement in the palm of my hand. i, the christ of unpilled cats.
i turned to the cat burrito. i accepted the fact his tiny pawlettes were going to be swaddled under his chin, as he is the great houdini. come back as feline. there was much thrashing of head, but i managed to get the antibiotic down. we were both smudged in blue coating by the time it was over. his head would immediately stagnate upon consumption. perhaps he goes into shock. his tail hairs stay in shock for a good hour.
i was starting to feel triumphant after squeezing a few pills down this way. i got my confidence up. i gave him quality head pattings after, while he was still burritoed. the ineffectual cat-pilling video vet said to do this so he knows i'm not just some sadistic bitch in my goldening years.
today was the morning of three medications. i felt fairly comfortable that the pill pockets were no longer a sure fire way to administer health and i wanted to clear his mind of their trickery before we hop a red eye to phoenix saturday night and leave darren to pill the ferret.
i confidently grabbed oskar three times and slid his tearing claws across the bedspread and on to the tortilla before wrapping his neck like he was getting his beard set up for a hot shave. he pretended to be calm. and i thought. oh, no problem. we're sympatico on this. me and my friend.
the writhing over that blue pill was top notch. he could join the circus with those loose ligaments! he ejected it so far during one of the struggles, that it landed two feet away from where i thought it went. the little pills, he hid down in his wrappings. he did everything to avoid a pilling, just short of biting the fuck out of me, something ozzy wouldn't hesitate to do if you just pet him the wrong direction. ozzy, the cat who punched me in the eyeball the other morning for some kind of inexplicably illegal pet.
i thought i had finally at least gotten the large antibiotic down the chute before realizing it was on the bed a foot away, gleaming white at this point. i tried not to verbally berate him, but i admit i had begun to. i insulted his maturity level with my words.
in response, he mashed down on my thumb like his jaws were a car door. i yelped. i cursed. it wasn't until later i realized he had also punctured the side of my thumb. mind you, this is coming from a cat with no fangs. i had him defanged a year and a half ago.
I'M KIDDING. kind of. remember? his tooth fell out on the floor that one time? and the vet took out the other? and then neglected to tell me his creatinine levels were out of the normal range at that point and that dental issues are associated will ill-functioning kidneys? you didn't know that part, because i only just found out that part and i keep waiting for the vet to say that other vet fucked up. it ain't coming. it's sitting with the apology for not calling me for four days with urinalysis results.
bitter pills all around.