And I could really use a pat on the shoulder and a “there there” from other cat people right now.
Horton wasn’t bothering me this morning when I got up to make coffee. He’s normally parked outside the bedroom door, ready to make a break-in attempt so he can sit right smack under the middle of the king-size bed where I can’t reach him. But I was downstairs making kitchen noises and there was no sign of him. I found him in the litter box, just standing there. Last week we brought him to the vet because he’d been scooting his butt across the carpet and we thought maybe his butt glands were bothering him. My man had also noticed how Horton seemed to spend a lot of time in his box lately with very little liquid results, and when he told the vet this, we were given antibiotics and special food because it was likely a UTI.
So when I saw him straining in his box this morning, it wasn’t too much of a worry. but then he came upstairs and squatted on the carpet. And squatted on the kitchen floor. Over and over, with nothing but a drop or two coming out, and frantic licking of his crotch in between attempts.
I whisked him to the emergency vet, and they yanked him straight to the back room to put in a catheter. It took them an hour and a half to cath him. He was completely blocked. His urethra is apparently a mess of crystals and scar tissue. He’s there now, recovering from the procedure with an IV in one end and a catheter in the other, helping flush him out. The good news it he made it through, and we got him help in time. The bad news is, if we remove the catheter he will block right up again. He needs surgery. Something called a urethrostomy - the way the vet described it, we’ll more or less have a girl cat at the end of the procedure. A winkie-ectomy, if you will. So we have to pick him up very early tomorrow because the emergency vet won’t keep him, and we need to find someone to do this procedure on the little guy because it’s the only way to keep him with us.
I’m exhausted and stressed out from a day in the vet’s waiting room. There’s been a lot of crying, and I’m wishing I’d noticed something was wrong sooner. The vet said I did the right thing, and also that the other vet, who gave us pills and special food, was doing the right thing too. It was just much worse than we knew. But still. He’s my adorable vicious fluffball and he needs his winkie chopped off so he can pee, or he’ll die. That’s a lot to absorb for one day.