Going to the Vet, the Angry Cat Edition.

So after about a week of putting various drops and goop into my cats eyeballs it was time to take her back into the vet for a checkup of her horrible mangled eyes eye ulcers. Of course she was not okay with this at all ever. Which she expressed by refusing to go into her carrier. So I had Scott try to put her in while I held the crate but he only got her torso in before she caught on that this just might be another plot to take her to the vet and then all hell broke loose and she started making this sound like she was about to fuck our shit up. And of course she is like, super strong from her life outside where she would chase down and kill FULL GROWN RABBITS so then I panicked and turned the carrier straight up hoping gravity would help us out. However it turns out that gravity was giving us the finger that day because all this accomplished was that she turned into a helicopter made out of tail and fur and claws.

A cat-ass-copter if you will.

I started laughing because this was the funniest thing I had seen in a while and then I saw one of her front paws slap down on the outside of the door and then she managed to pull herself out of the thing entirely and tried to make a run for it and Scott had to tackle her.

So the horrible sounds of her laying the smack down resumed and it took both of us pushing on her ass to shove her into the crate and I slammed the door shut after her and latched it before she could turn around and checked to make sure both my hands were still attached and this wasn't going to be like that scene from Kill Bill where she totally cut that others chicks head off but she doesn't realize it at first. Except with my hands. And a cat.

Anyway we drive to the vet clinic and I listen to Emoticon trying to add in her own angry lyrics to the music on the radio and then we get there and the vet comes out and hands the receptionist the tiniest cutest puppy ever and asks her to hold it because apparently he won't stop crying and then all our hearts melt at once and the puppy is super happy because OMG ATTENTION.

Then we head on in and he puts dye in her eyeballs and asks us if we have seen any improvement and then I say no not really and then Emoticon refuses to open her third eyelid AGAIN and I am all like we are paying money for this open your damn eyes except I didn't say it out loud and I am pretty sure she gave the vet the finger.

So then he says that if we wanted we could take her to a specialist who happens to be in Gaithersburg Maryland. Just to clarify, we live in WEST VIRGINA. So then I am all like, well, she was a free cat... and then he said that really though the best thing we could do was keep treating them but that he was pretty sure the left eye was shot but we might be able to improve the right eye.

Which was pretty much the same thing he said the last time we went through all this.

Then I was like, I don't think we can ever take her off these medications again can we? Because we tried that and her right eye was totally fine and then everything went back to being awful as soon as we stopped and now we are playing save the cats eyeballs again. And then he said we were going to have to wait and see what happened this go around which probably means I have a new indoor cat now.

Then we fixed another appointment date and then we went to the counter to pay and the cutest puppy in the whole world was there again with it's working eyes and everything and then we paid and then we went back to the car and I felt bad for the cat and thought about how I didn't want any of this to happen and also about that fact that we pretty much gave each other the cats eyeballs for Christmas this year.

But in a totally non-creepy way.

I mean there is totally nothing weird about giving the gift of eyeballs right? Right?

You know what? I'll just stop typing before I make this worse.

The Vet, the Cat and Some Drool.

The next part in the ongoing saga of my cats eyeballs involved making her another vet appointment and dragging her ass to it. Of course I knew she was going to have to go back at some point but I was dragging my feet on it because I still had medication for her and I had to go to work and holy shit how is it December already I have to give gifts to people this month. Fortunately the decision to call the vet clinic got made for me when I found blood in her fur.

There I was sitting calmly at my desk working on my Christmas card, music playing out of my head phones with a cup of tea beside me. Outside snow was coming down and I was enjoying watching it from my warm chair. Emoticon jumps up, and asks to be petted. I put my hand on her head and rub her thick soft fur. A thunderous purr starts up in her chest and I run my hand down her spine. She puts her butt in my face and then I see a few streaks of blood on her butt.

Freaking out ensued.

Of course this would happen when I have to leave for work for two days for a job that can't be missed. So I freak out some more and check the litter box and find out that there is blood on the litter around some poop and then I spend some time making sure the cat is not about to drop dead and then I tell the farm sitter and then I leave for work the next morning and resist the urge to text him like fifty times asking how the cats asshole is doing.

That might have been a bit much.

So then I get home and then I make an appointment and tell the receptionist that I found blood on her butt and I was kinda freaked and oh by the way her eyeballs are turning into big fat messes again and then they give me an appointment for later that afternoon. So at the appropriate time I shove Emoticon into a carrier and put on all the layers ever cause it's like 15 degrees outside without wind chill and then we get in the car and she starts meowing. Because she was just thrilled.

Yowlingly thrilled.

Of course going to the vet always makes me super nervous because what if this trip is where she is diagnosed with super cat eyeball tumors or catdealthitis or something? So we get to the waiting room and I try not to think about all the horrible things that could be wrong and instead I watched these two pug dogs come in that were dressed in Christmas sweaters.

Pug dogs. In Christmas sweaters.

It was god damned adorable. Even if their breathing sounded like they were farting out of there short little faces. Of course while I was smiling at the pure cuteness on legs I kept hearing these ominous thuds on the door across from us. Then a vet tech came and got one of the pugs and as she was leaving I saw a long tail sticking out from under the mystery door, accompanied by the sounds of a dogs toenails scrabbling on the floor.

Then the pug comes back and they are paying to leave and the pugs are walking around and breathing like deflating balloons and then without warning the door across from me bursts open and the biggest dog I have ever seen in my entire life comes rushing out of the door straight at us and then I was all like, “Holy crap I thought that thing was a small bear” and then the owner laughed while the giant fucking dog snorfled my hand and then it effortlessly wheeled around and put two paws up on the reception desk and looked the lady behind the desk magnificently in the eye before the owner could get him down. He came crashing to the floor and then he set eyes on the pugs.

There was a moment when the two bloated sausages with legs and festive sweaters considered the small horse big ass dog before they both decided they could take each other and the barking started. I have heard dogs whose barks were said to start at their toes. This dog's bark started under the floor somewhere. Possibly he just stored it in the basement wrapped around the plumbing until he needed it.

“I'll just put him in the car and then pay.” The owner said calmly hauling his wheeling barking dog out the glass door. No one moved to stop him. Quiet came back to the waiting room and then the tech appeared and called us into a room and then I tried not to think about Catdealthitis and the vet comes in and puts dye in her eyeballs and then she shuts her third eyelid and then he tries to get her to look at him and then I try to get her to look at him and then she glares at us.

I couldn't really blame her at that point.

Then he talks us through this round of what he thinks her fucking eye ulcers are doing and then he looks at her and says that the mystery blood was probably parasites and gave her A dewormer pill which she promptly spat back onto the techs hand because Emoticon had clearly said fuck it by this point.

So after the great pill puke-a-thon he tells about this new med that he wants to put her on. He went on to say that it was not as vital as the other two but we could give it a shot to stop the discomfort and hopefully aid in the healing. The only catch here was that it might cause her to foam at the mouth.

Cue that record scratching sound.

I was all like, WTF? And he was all like, one in ten cats might have a bad reaction to it so most likely she will be fine and then he breezed out of the room and we collected our meds and paid the slightly frazzled desk lady and then we went home.

Scott started on dinner and then I gave her her first med and then was all like we might as well give this new one a shot. So I held her and told her she was an awesome kitty and put in the drops while she thought swear words at me and then I went into the kitchen to wash my hands and then Scott asked me a question and I answered it and then I poked my head back into the living room to see my cat doing her damnedest rabies impression.

There was drool coming out of that cats mouth like someone had poured a fucking bottle of bubble bath into a five jet hot tub.

I had to clean the floor twice. Twice.

Then I promised her that I wouldn't give her that one anymore and hoped that the vet would agree with me next week at our next appointment while she looked like she had just burst a pipe in her face.

Which was all the excitement I really needed for one evening, really.

The Warranty on my Cats Eyeballs Must Have Expired.

Unfortunately while Emoticon was enjoying the freedom of being a wild tiger in the jungle being on outdoor cat her eyeballs were busy going to shit again. Because I clearly haven't paid the vets office enough money yet. So I made the decision to pull her back inside and bombard her eyeballs with drops again because I love her and she loves me and when I am working she sleeps on my desk and it's the cutest thing ever in the whole world ever.

Although I might be a little biased on that one.

Anyway after a few days of putting drops in her bad eye while she tried to hide under furniture from me Scott noticed that her good eye was also looking cloudy again and then I went outside and yelled at the sky except it was too cold for that really so I just told Scott that the warranty on my cats eyeballs must have expired.

Of course all this would be going on during a ice storm when I also have to get my ass to work and make money so I have not yet been able to make a vet appointment but that is the next thing that has to happen because I don't believe in investing money outside of my cat. Apparently.

Also I don't know how it got to be December all ready but I would like to have a do over of November. And not just because I would enjoy doing Thanksgiving again but also because I had goals for November and it's gone now. The goals? Still here.

Anywho so now I am back to having an indoor cat that knocks things off my desk and gets cat hair all up in my keyboard and makes my living room extra festive by coating it in a layer of snow like white cat fur and now I am afraid to put up my Thriftmas Tree because I am kind of afraid of what she would do to it.

Also this time around I decided I wasn't crating her anymore and so far she has avoided destroying the house although I don't know what I am going to do when summer comes and she tries to bust through another window screen to sweet, sweet freedom. I suppose I will have to cross that bridge when I come to it. And hopefully it's not one of those rope bridges from Indiana Jones where everybody goes all crazy pants and then we have to cut the bridge in two and somebody gets eaten by crocodiles. Except we don't even have crocodiles here so it would have to be bears.

Metaphorical bears.

Hopefully the vet will have a good idea of where to go from here in the medication is working as a place holder but not helping long term problem I am seeing and that we won't have to cross any metaphorical bridges at the vets office because no one there deserves to get eaten by bears. Or crocodiles.

Especially not the cat.

I mean that would be pretty hard to explain to Scott. I'm sure you guys would understand if my cat got eaten by metaphorical bears.

Pretty sure.

Mostly sure.

Emoticon is Once Again a Free Kitty.

So in what is hopefully the last chapter in the saga of my cats eyeballs, we went in to get more meds and then the vet was all like we should do another check up on her and then I was like okay whatever it's not like I need money to live or anything. Which of course involved pouring her into a carrier and listening to her yowl super loudly in the car for half an hour.

Because love.

And then we got to the vets and the place is like super empty and then I am all like score and then we get admitted into the little room with the exam table and it takes two people to get Emoticon out of the carrier because she can turn herself from a solid into a liquid state at will. It's a talent she has.

Then Mr. Vet Guy comes in and has a look at her and puts more dye into her bad eyeball and then we have that discussion about where to go from here. Her good eye is completely wonderfully cleared up. But her bad eye is still a big fat ulcery mess. I explained that while I had not seen much improvement in the bad no good eye or the ulcer I had wanted to give her a bit more peripheral vision because it was a big hard world out there.

He points out that the ulcer thing is still picking up on the dye so he kinda doesn't want to stop treatment but he has to admit that I have been treating this thing for fucking ever and we really haven't seen that much improvement. Because whatever damage was done to it was kinda deep.

The real problem as I saw it however was that Emoticon was becoming depressed. She was not coming out of her crate anymore in the mornings and was trying to hide from me when I went to dose her. She had stopped playing with her toys, stopped running around like a crazy cat and was spending more time sleeping on the floor like a little furry rug.

So then he said that we could probably put Emoticon back outside as long as her eye didn't get any worse because she didn't appear to be in pain and we had been treating this damn thing for like the entire fucking summer and into fall and at this point and it was unlikely that we were going to have some sort of eyeball epiphany at some point where she would get super better and have rainbows shoot out of her eyes.

Well he didn't say all that, I'm paraphrasing.

So then I took Emoticon home and let her go out onto the porch where she acted completely baffled that she was outside and then she didn't show up for dinner or breakfast and I was beginning to freak out that I just blew 300 dollars she was dead or ran away or something and then she showed up for lunch and hissed at her sister and then I thought everything just might be okay. Especially because she is not misjudging jumps and flailing about in the weeds anymore. Also she gained a lot of weight being inside. Which she seemed to put directly over a layer of rock hard kitty muscle.

Her sister doesn't stand a chance, is what I am saying here.

Hell at this point I don't think I stand a chance.

Which is why I am trying to stay on her good side.

Tom Tom Tiger had better watch out.

It might be getting real on this farm.

Kitty real.

A Good Day and a Bad One.

So last night, in accordance with the laws of summer we had a thunderstorm. And in accordance with the laws of our house, that meant that Jack, our sweet doggy boy was launched out from under the bed by the first loud rumble of thunder and sent pacing throughout the house.

Also out was Emoticon our outdoor kitty we have desperately been treating with about a bazillion eye drops in a crazy attempt to stop her from going blind. So because I am clearly the superior pet parent everyone was in my office. Emoticon was being a pest, playing with my curtains and trying to see how durable that internet router was, really.

So finally I had to give up doing anything productive and play with her. Her favorite game being chase the string. Despite having really fucked up eyes she was nailing that string. Like she had some personal mafia like vendetta against that motherfucker.

That was until I realized that she was able to catch it because she could hear it. I was hoping that when I took her to vet in the morning I would be able to tell him that we were totally seeing improvements and maybe we should you know, stop having these weekly appointments because I am totally running out of fucking money.

Watching my poor cat flail blindly at the air while I swung the string back and forth right in front of her eyes, I reflected on the fact that it did not appear we were making any progress here. Also, her frustration with the indoor life was beginning to show. She was sleeping more, eating more and finding more ways to attempt to dive her kitty self through screened windows like some sort of kitty shaped rocket.

I felt bad for her and strangely, even worse for me. Since Emoticon was not going to have to start making quality of life choices here. Finally it got to be too much to let her win all the time, because that shit was totally getting depressing so I put her back in Jack's dog crate and then I spent some time staring at the wall thinking that poverty was a whole less The Noble Simple Good Folk and more like watching the things you love suffer and knowing that the price to heal them might be too damn high.

Wow. I am sorry. This shit is getting dark.

So then I noticed that the dog was really digging at his rump and then I came over to look and found a horrible open weeping sore there. Then I called the husband in and he was all like, we have to take him to the vet. And I was all like, ha ha why not? It's not like work has been almost nothing and we have been eating spaghetti every meal or anything.

After a while the storm quit and we all went to bed. This is also one of the times that I wish my mind would draw a veil over, but it didn't and I couldn't and I kept hoping that I wasn't crying because I still had hope and not that I was emotionally dead inside because I was going to have to sign the death warrant on my own cat because treating two animals was so out of the budget I might as well have been trying to book a cruise through the antarctic.

And then of course shit just got worse. Because at 1:24am I woke up covered in sweat and spent the next half hour throwing up uncontrollably in the toilet. I remember thinking, very clearly at the time, that stress really, really fucking sucks.

Like a whole lot.

So the next morning we loaded up the car and made our queasy way down the mountain to the vet. I did not throw up, but Jack did so only a 50-50 on that win there. So we get to the vet and Jack freaks out and hides under the chair and Emoticon is curled in a ball shaking and won't look at me and I am wondering if I have a complete breakdown in the waiting room who in there is going to judge the shit out of me for it.

So then they call us back and everyone with four legs freaks the shit out and I really want to freak the shit out but someone has to lead this parade and they ask us if we need any more meds and I blurt out the one's we are low on and Scott gives me that look that says I-don't-want-to-influence-your-decision-here-but-we-can't-keep-taking-this-cat-to-the-vet-week-after-week-but-I-don't-want-to-get-blamed-later-when-the- grief-names-start-flying-because-I-don't-want-to-be-called-king-cat-murderer-or-cat-slaying-monster-at-some-point-in-the-future.

Married people can say a whole lot with a look, is what I am trying to get at here.

Anyway the vet asks who we want to look at first and Scott says the cat and then I dump her on the table and the vet does his magic eye light wand thing again and asks vet questions and then he tells me that while her eyes might still look gunky, that he is seeing a lot of new healing vessels and they are a lot clearer and then he does some test where he moves his fingers towards her eyes to see if she reacts and she does and then he tells me that I don't need to come in any more and we can cut it down to two meds twice a day and that I can just come back and pick up meds for her and just treat her until her eyes were clear because both of them look like they will heal.

And then I saw angels. And golden rays of sunshine. In the exam room.

And then I shot Scott a look that said ha-didn't-I-tell-you-that-this-would-work-out-and-that-I-wasn't-going-to-give-up-on-this-cat-and-you-can-suck-it.

Then he looked at the dog and gave us some meds to reduce the itchiness and some antibiotics for his weird skin thing and then we were on our way. I was pleased to find out that the visit didn't cost more then the last time even though we had to take a look at the dog this round.

Then we got home and pilled the dog which I was thinking was going to look just like that scene from Jaws were what's-his-face shoots the oxygen tank and the sharks head explodes, only replace 'shark' with 'dog' and 'oxygen tank' with 'pills.'

And also localized to my kitchen.

Oh and the tiny hard antibiotics were 43$ and the giant motherfucking capsules were 11$ so guess which ones we had to shove down his throat? Luckily Scott just opened his mouth and shoved it in and Jack didn't know what to do and then before he could really think things through in his tiny dog mind Scott offered him a treat with the half dose in it and then he took it but bit right down on the pill. The he spit the whole damn thing out, looked at it on the ground for a second, shrugged and ate it. Then I got him to drink some water to prove he wasn't going to hork them up again.

Which I think makes Jack the best dog ever in the history of ever.

Pretty sure.