Aftercare with weird cats

After the Vet with the World’s Sweetest and Dumbest Cat: A Story

(The photos are from January — she’s fine in them, just lazy)

DAY ONE: Give Blue-cat lots of love and snuggles and gooshyfood, since she had anesthesia and a tooth removed the day before. Debate how to give her her three days’ worth of antibiotic pills.

Attempt to hide the first pill inside a treat, but the treat crumbles. Put the treat crumble and pill down together on the carpet just to see if she might eat it all.

When the cat inadvertently pushes the pill away from the treat with her paw, gently push it back towards her with your toe and watch in astonishment as she eats it.

DAY TWO: Put a treat and a pill next to each other on the floor just in case she’s really that dumb.

She’s really that dumb, and you watch, nonplussed, as she cheerfully eats both the treat and pill.

DAY THREE: Test your luck one more time and put the final pill on the floor beside a treat. Watch as she eats the treat, then eats the pill, looking up at you with a funny face along the lines of “Mom, this treat isn’t very good.”

Give her lots more treats as compensation for the dirty trick.

After the Vet with the World’s Most Dramatic Cat: A Story

Unlike Blue-cat, Tansy-cat didn’t need any teeth removed, so she just had the indignity of the vet visit + anesthesia to deal with.

Dramatically. Trust me.

Two days later, I call the vet in a panic because the shaved IV site on her front leg isn’t healing right. The vet gets me to chill out, says it’s common for cats to lick/chew the site, and sends me to the pet store for a collar.

SO MANY DRAMAZ ENSUE. SO MANY.

Tansy doesn’t lack for smarts, but she was so mystified by my putting the collar on (repeatedly, because I had to figure out the fit and then cut it down so she could still eat and drink) that she behaved really well for that part.

Then the angst began.

For the first two hours, she spent her time alternately backing frantically around the room and frozen solid, unable to believe that the hoomans had DARED.

I’m sure the cone does throw off her depth perception and ability to move, just like it would for a human, but oh, the suffering. It took her another hour to figure out how to get down the five steps to the basement, where her food and water are.

In the meantime, she wandered hopelessly around the den, walking face-first into walls and furniture. Occasionally she’d bump something with the edge of the collar and then stop dead for ten minutes, as she recalibrated. Or something.

All yesterday she wandered the house like a lost soul, occasionally stopping to stare at me accusingly or attempt to get on my computer desk (which is off-limits and she knows it).

She likes sitting with or on me anyway,* but when I sat on the couch for a while, it was ON: She did the most pathetic imitation of anguished, furry velcro I’ve ever seen. Full-length contact, with soulful staring at my face.

“Mom. Why have you betrayed me so? Mom. Mom. MOM.”

Today she’s more or less figured out how to move with the collar on, but have I mentioned the drama? So now, every time she thinks I’m looking at her, she’ll walk face-first into something or bump it with her collar and freeze, in what she’s sure is a delicate accusation.

Her leg is now healing, but the vet said to leave the collar on for five days, so she has a few more days of SO MANY DRAMAS ahead of her.

*But only on her terms, and only if you don’t touch her while she’s touching you, otherwise she decides you need to lose those fingers.