I’m sitting at the dining room table. The cat comes strolling along, casual as the night is dark and stands on the table. I yell at him and clap – in an effort to startle him off the table. What does he do? He looks at me and slowly, leisurely, lays down right where he had been standing. On the table. Bastard. I throw whatever small thing I’ve got handy at him to scare him off. It’s my pill container. Unfortunately, it’s not sealed and one of my meds pops out. I didn’t think anything of it. That is, until a few minutes later I look up from my work and realize that the bastard is eating something – the pill that popped out. I jump up and try to stop him, salvaging a tiny bit of the pill. He has eaten the rest of it. It takes me awhile to realize how dangerous this is. I explain what happened to my wife and we come to the conclusion that I need to go to the vet. Off I scoot, gathering the bastard into his kennel. I call into work – feeling very, very lesbian.
I mean, “Hi, I need to stay home because my cat is sick.” I might as well say that I’m slipping on my Birkenstocks and rushing him to the vet in my Subaru and Life is Good apparel.
A very expensive visit later, I drop the bastard off at home – having given him subcutaneous fluids at the vet without fainting (needles make super un-butch). Then, I’m off to work. I have a long day. I mean long. I hang up from my last call at 9:34 pm. Then it’s time to reply to some emails and do some work. I walk out of the office at 11:16. I’m not complaining because that is very rare. I’m just explaining my state of mind.
After work, I head to the pharmacy for cat meds. I think I’m going to pick up a quick bite as well, but I am quite wrong. Nothing is open except for
Wendy’s. I do enjoy Wendy’s, but I don’t want fast food tonight.
I’ll make something at home.
I get home and it’s time to care for the bastard. He needs two meds and more subq fluids. After changing, I get to work. He is unhappy with the first med. So much so that he scratches my stomach (it bled for awhile) and puts two holes in my fav t-shirt. Grrrr.
Then I’m off to handle the kitty litter and see he’s thrown up the charcoal in the hallway. In the shape of a penis, I might add. And again in the bathroom. After a significant amount of scrubbing, I finish the disgusting task. Next, a pill.
This time, I hold and pet him. Trying to soothe my little bastard. He has had a worse day than me, after all. He tries to wait me out – spitting out the half melted pill way, way after I give it to him. But I am more patient and he eventually gets the whole dose (I think). Finally, it’s the IV time.
The higher you hang the bag, the better, they said.
Well; I don’t have anywhere high so I get out a nail and hammer. After midnight, I quickly drive that nail to use as the IV hook. I wrap the bastard up in a “kitty burrito” as they suggested. I’m able to get the needle in and everything is working. I silently pat myself on the back. It takes about 10 minutes for the 150ml to find the way into his neck. I withdraw the needle as instructed and pinch his skin to keep the fluid in. Hooray! Problem is that the needle is pumping fluid out like a water pistol. Jesus, it’s hard to remember everything.
What a shitty day. Sometimes, it’s Butch just to get through it. Be Butch.