She really is going to kill us all in our sleep and you know what? I don't even blame her. That poor cat is so damn miserable and it seems that no matter how much I try to make her life better, I just manage to piss her off more.
You'll remember the last visit to the vet, the one where the vet just spat out every scary sounding disease (lung worms, brain fungus, cancer...) like she had some kind of strange form of Tourette's or something. I left that visit quite upset but resigned to stick to our current treatment plan until such time as things necessitated a change.
That time was Monday when Vader had such a violent and lengthy sneezing fit that Joe honestly thought Vader might kick it right then and there on our dining room table (it's not like we use it when we eat...or any other time really). She didn't. But the sneezing fit was combined with the appearance of so much goop coming out of her eyes that she could barely see out of them. This required me to try and hold her down with one hand (Joe refuses to have anything to do with the cats'- well, anything and is particularly traumatized by cat snot) and wipe out her eyes with the other hand. Vader did not appreciate this and me trying to explain that I was just trying to help her see did nothing for my case.
So I called the vet. But this time I called the dogs' vet. Yes, my cats and dogs have separate vets. I went through three veterinary hospitals with Big before settling with the one I chose. The first two couldn't figure out what was going on with my dog. Dr. Kirk did. So he got the dogs and I got the pleasure of driving an hour and fifteen minutes for the pleasure of his company.
Believe me, it's worth it.
I never bothered with the cats though because I thought it was important that I have an animal at a vet clinic that offers emergency services in my actual area because if you're a client, they'll often agree to look at whatever animal you need looked at, even if that animal isn't a regular patient. That's how my cats ended up where they are (were?) now. This hospital was the second for the cats because the first couldn't figure out what was going on with Vader. The second hospital experienced some success but after the lung worm and brain fungus visit, I decided that I would subject my poor long suffering Vader to the very long car ride and bring her to Dr. Kirk because obviously, we needed a new opinion.
He looked at Vader yesterday. He weighed her. She's down to eight pounds now which does not make me happy. If you shaved her down, there wouldn't be anything left. Things got better for Vader when Dr. Kirk stuck a swab in her eye to get a sample of the green gunk sealing her eye shut.
"Can you say (insert some difficult tongue twisting medical jargon here)?" he said then.
"Not even a little," I said in response.
He took the swab and left the room to look at it under the microscope. Meanwhile, Vader was trying to burrow her way to safety through the wall. She was unsuccessful. When Dr. Kirk came back, he had a theory.
And that theory was that my cat has (wait for it...) chlamydia.
"Wait, I'm sorry, what?" I asked. "She's got what?"
It's different than it is in people. Which is nice to hear because, again, like when the second vet passed down a (false) diagnosis of herpes (so glad, by the way, that I now have a blog with contains both buzz words 'herpes' and 'chlamydia') my first (vocalized) thought was "my god, I should hope so. It's not like she's spends her nights down at the docks picking up sailors!"
Because she doesn't. At least, not that I know of.
So the new hilarious diagnosis came with two prescriptions, neither of which were carried in the office. So I took Vader and went to Large Mart to get them filled. One is some kind of twice a day super antibiotic. The other is an eye ointment which we're supposed to squeeze into each eye every twelve hours. Repeat until symptoms (which will likely relapse, Dr. Kirk says) go away.
Great. So I left town with a plan and a good feeling.
Then came this morning. Joe and I tried to give Vader her antibiotic. It's not the first time she's had an antibiotic and the other times went remotely well. She wasn't happy by any means (probably hasn't been happy since the day we brought home that first damn dog) but we managed to get it into her.
The super antibiotic didn't go over so well. No, the super antibiotic caused her to foam at the mouth. And I don't mean figuratively or anything, I mean full fledged foaming that would've scared the bejeezus out of Cujo. The foaming led to lots and lots of drool and saliva and long fat tracks of slime just pouring out of Vader's mouth.
I am dead serious. And if you thought Joe was traumatized by cat snot, you should have seen him this morning.
Vader scratched me across the neck hard enough to draw blood and then drooled and spat and whatever else all over the dining room table. My brother and sister-in-law bought me some tablecloths a while back and one of them was a spill resistant cloth because my sister-in-law often seems to spill whatever when she's visiting. I think they got it as kind of a joke but you know what? I have to tell them how much I LOVE that tablecloth because it makes clean up a breeze! If you're reading this, Alison, where did that tablecloth come from? Do you remember? Because I need more.
Anyway, once I finished trying to mop up Vader's face, she bit me and then ran away and took refuge in the furthest, darkest corner of the daybed in my office. I decided to call Dr. Kirk and ask if we could try mixing the antibiotic in with some canned food because maybe that would go over better.
Fast forward to this evening when we tried to do (with the vet's blessing) just that.
Yeah, that didn't go over better. It was pretty much a repeat performance of this morning only Joe was covering in a lot less cat slime this time around (something he vastly preferred).
But we did manage to get the ointment into her eyes, so that's something anyway, right?
So right now, poor Vader is sitting on the dining room table, glaring at me out of her one working eye. This may be my very last blog if she does somehow manage to smother me with a pillow while I'm sleeping tonight. If this ends up being the case, then please, on my headstone, make sure it reads "she really did try to make things better."
And yet, seems to have somehow ended up making things worse.
And thus ends another day in paradise...
Hope you all have a more successful weekend than my week has been (is that even close to proper grammar?).