First, the back story:
About 10 days ago my cat Oliver got sick. I called the emergency vet and they said not to worry too much about it, just to take him to his regular vet.
I tried to call the regular vet to set an appointment for 3 days but never got through to a live person. I then called the emergency vet again and they again said that it didn’t sound too serious since his behavior hadn’t changed and to take him to his normal vet. Not too serious? He was pooping blood! I took them at their word though and I tried for 5 more days, several times a day, to contact his normal vet with no answer at all. I again called the emergency vet. They finally said, “Look, if you are THAT worried bring him in here, but it will cost you 4 or 5 times as much as a visit to his normal vet.” With that thought running through my head I went online and found another local vet that was able to set up an appointment for this afternoon.
And now, the actual story I came here to tell you:
I took him in to the vet’s office today, filled out the paperwork, and brought him into the exam room. He was scared and kept trying to hide under things and bite me (he bites when he gets upset, which doesn’t bother me too much since I am used to it now but it freaked out the vet tech for a minute) but finally he sat on the table and got examined. The doctor had me bring a fecal sample so grabbed the bag of poo from my purse and handed it over. They left me in the room with my frightened cat and came back about 10 minutes later with a breakdown of the costs for treatment. It came to $650. Then it was my turn to freak out the vet tech, apparently, because I burst into tears. Loud, gasping, sobbing tears.
You see, my roommate moved out 2 days ago and now I am paying rent here on my own while I find a new roommate, so the prospect of doubling my rent and paying $650 for the cat and all the guilt for letting him be sick for so long pushed me over the edge into Sobsville. The tech handed me some kleenex and got a pen out of his pocket and started to circle individual items on the billing, saying that for right now only these items were necessary and that the others may not be needed, depending on how the fecal lab results come back. That brought my bill down to $330 and only paying the rest if he needs further medical care. I thanked him and he left to go type up new paperwork and to give me a minute to sit and cry into my kitty’s fur.
I composed myself before he got back and signed the papers and they whisked my cat away into a back room so that he could be given antibiotic injections and be examined properly. I paid the cashier and waited for them to finish. They brought me the cat and oral antibiotics for him (did I mention he is a biter? This is going to be such a fun week ahead, I can already tell.) The second I walked out of the office Ollie pulled himself completely to one end of the carrier, making the weight distribution uneven. I walked about half a block before I stopped and set him down to figure out what the hell he was doing.
He had been scared so badly by the whole vet experience that he shit in the carrier and was trying his hardest to keep away from it. Great. Fan-freakin-tastic. So I continue up the street with my cat and his steaming pile of shit and blood (did I mention he was pooping blood and that is why we went to the vet today?) when, as luck would have it, some guy who lives a couple blocks down starts hitting on me. He is walking along side of me and trying to make conversation when I finally said, “Sir, I have to get him home. He is very sick.” and pointed at the cat carrier. He waved and kept on his way while I crossed the street to my building.
I carried Oliver in the carrier up the stairs and into the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and set down the carrier. Oliver, in his infinite wisdom, decides that the best thing to do is try to run from the poo. Unfortunately he didn’t wait for me to open the carrier and so we had a bit of a hamster wheel effect, flinging poo all over the inside of the carrier and all over the cat. Jesus-fuck-my-eye-christ, why the hell did he do that?!? I open the carrier and he darts out and immediately starts eating dinner while I strip down to my birthday suit and take the carrier apart in the bathtub so I can clean it out. After about 20 minutes with a scrub brush and laundry detergent I got all the shit out of the padded/carpeted carrier and left it in the tub to dry, turning my attention to the cat. He has smeared poo all over the tile, all over the rug, and all over himself, but he has a full belly and is now in better spirits. I take an old pair of my roommate’s pajama pants that she left behind (she left several boxes of stuff she didn’t want to take with her) and begin trying to clean off the cat. It is at this point that he decides he has had enough manhandling for one day and starts biting and clawing at me. I take him by the scruff of the neck and make him hold still so I can wipe most of the poo away and when I let him go he streaks behind the toilet to finish cleaning himself up. I would prefer he not lick the poo off of himself but he is done with being touched in any way so I don’t have any way to stop him.
I turn and leave the bathroom, shutting Oliver and his poo-covered self inside, and walk into the kitchen to use the antibacterial soap to wash my hands. After about 20 seconds of this I realize the blinds are open and I am sweaty and naked. :smack: I closed the blinds and walked into the other room with a fistful of paper towels and a bottle of bleach, let the cat out of the bathroom, and clean off the mess that had ensued. I washed my hands again and I am now sitting here with two kitties at my feet, purring away as if nothing had happened. I am going to take a shower in a minute, but it has been such a harrowing couple of hours that I had to tell someone about exactly what I went through because I love my kitty.
