Entry tags:
A different peecat
Pippin, downstairs, is who we usually mean when the household says "peecat".
Yellface, upstairs, was observed screaming at the door frame on Thursday, in a way that could have just been Cats Are Like That, Man. Then on Friday, observed variously screaming and crying and squatting on various parts of floor. With, yup, pink droplets.
A Friday vet appointment was not forthcoming. We put her in bathroom isolation, with a puppy pad and some crumpled paper towels so she could feel like she was burying things. (Otherwise she goes looking for random portable items in the room to bury her excretion zone, and we do not prefer this.)
She was feeling substantially better by Saturday morning. But she is a Little Old Lady and prone to bladder issues. So we kept the Monday appointment that Belovedest had managed to book.
(I tanked up on coffee, because the timing was ... very much what it was.)
We're keeping an eye on her kidneys, she got a 14 day shot of antibiotics (much easier than a twice a day medication for two weeks), and (crucially) a liquid pain medication that we can pull out the NEXT time she starts to display pain symptoms right before the weekend. (Because cats.)
Then Belovedest went straight to work and Yellface and I went home while listening to Long Live Evil in audiobook (she cries less in the car with spoken human voice content) and I tried to fall over but had to keep getting up because I'd misjudged my caffeine dose. Again, I cannot recommend --
(This time was much less Terrible than last time, for reasons.)
After I'd had sufficient, if non-sleeping, downtime, Nora called. And I located my fluffy white skirt, my lace parasol, my off-white sweater, and some beads that I could use in a particular crochet-and-beads project that I suddenly decided that I wanted based on some observations of fellow Creatures of the Night in the wild (some Goths in Costco).
And now, armed with jello, I shall sleep before my infusion.
Yellface, upstairs, was observed screaming at the door frame on Thursday, in a way that could have just been Cats Are Like That, Man. Then on Friday, observed variously screaming and crying and squatting on various parts of floor. With, yup, pink droplets.
A Friday vet appointment was not forthcoming. We put her in bathroom isolation, with a puppy pad and some crumpled paper towels so she could feel like she was burying things. (Otherwise she goes looking for random portable items in the room to bury her excretion zone, and we do not prefer this.)
She was feeling substantially better by Saturday morning. But she is a Little Old Lady and prone to bladder issues. So we kept the Monday appointment that Belovedest had managed to book.
(I tanked up on coffee, because the timing was ... very much what it was.)
We're keeping an eye on her kidneys, she got a 14 day shot of antibiotics (much easier than a twice a day medication for two weeks), and (crucially) a liquid pain medication that we can pull out the NEXT time she starts to display pain symptoms right before the weekend. (Because cats.)
Then Belovedest went straight to work and Yellface and I went home while listening to Long Live Evil in audiobook (she cries less in the car with spoken human voice content) and I tried to fall over but had to keep getting up because I'd misjudged my caffeine dose. Again, I cannot recommend --
(This time was much less Terrible than last time, for reasons.)
After I'd had sufficient, if non-sleeping, downtime, Nora called. And I located my fluffy white skirt, my lace parasol, my off-white sweater, and some beads that I could use in a particular crochet-and-beads project that I suddenly decided that I wanted based on some observations of fellow Creatures of the Night in the wild (some Goths in Costco).
And now, armed with jello, I shall sleep before my infusion.