The other night I was sitting on the couch catching up on some work. I had papers spread out all around me. My son was sprawled out on the far end of the couch. While my L-shaped sofa comfortably seats 5 people sitting up, or 3 people sitting up and the dog lying down, when a human is lounging or I am working with a lot of material around me, it can only accommodate 2 or 3.

Riley came near, put his face on the edge of the couch and looked up at me. He was asking me to move over. I said “Sorry Riley- not this time, go lay on your bed.” He sighed and went around the coffee table to his bed. This is what ensued.

(Keep in mind that Riley is 80 pounds of black lab. Miss Kitty, aka- Jasmine is all of 7 ½ lbs.)

Riley; “Jasmine, move over, mom won’t let me on the couch.”

Miss Kitty opens 1 eye a fraction then closes it again.

Riley: “Come on, move over or you move to the back of the couch, there’s room for you there.”

Miss Kitty yawns.

Riley; “Please?”

Miss Kitty; “I’m comfy right here in the middle of the bed.”

Riley; “Jazz- move over. It is supposed to be MY bed you know.”

Miss Kitty pretends she has gone deaf.

Riley comes back over to the couch and sighs at me. A very deep sigh. When I look at him and tell him “no” again, he harrumphs then walks back toward his bed. Jasmine has not moved an inch and she has that “cat’s rule dog’s drool” look on her face.

Riley; “Come on Jazz, mom’s working and her papers are everywhere, Colt is falling asleep and I know Mom won’t move him. Please either get OFF my bed or move over. I’ll even squish forward so you can still be close to the radiator.”

Miss Kitty; “I was here first.”

Riley; “Actually, I was here first. You came a year later.”

Miss Kitty; “I meant I got on the bed first, stupid.”

Riley; “I know what you meant and it’s not so nice you calling me stupid. Now MOVE.”

Miss Kitty; “Nope.”

Riley; “Come on Jasmine. I want to lie down.”

Miss Kitty; “Make me.”

At this point Riley looks over at me and starts sighing again. I have been watching this argument and in my estimation the cat really is being quite bitchy. I take pity on the poor puppy. I go and pick up the cat. Miss Kitty hates to be picked up. I put her on the back of the couch.

Riley laid on his bed and for a while watched the cat as she swished her tail back and forth in annoyance, refusing to look at him or me.

Just before Riley started snoring, I swear I heard him say “Ha Ha. Made you move

I mentioned in my last post that I had to medicate my cat. Ugh! Miraculously she is “speaking” to me again. For those of you who have cats you understand what I mean. For several days during the week that we had to medicate her, Miss Kitty would not look at me. She would deign to come up on the bed or the couch in my presence, however she let me know she was not happy by sitting with her backside facing me while staring at the wall. Her “motor” did not run. Not a purr could be heard all week. Miss Kitty would come into a room that I was in, but only to let me know that I was persona non grata as far as she was concerned. Basically she was ignoring me, but wanting to be sure that I understood I was being ignored. Normally when I stand in the kitchen or come home at the end of the day the cat rubs her little self against my ankles, making sure that her scent as well as her fur is all over my pant’s leg. She came at the sound of her food bowl being filled, and occasionally when I tried calling her she would poke her head around the corner to at least look into the room that I was in.

Miss Kitty’s behavior went back and forth from passive aggressive to downright hostile depending on how close it was to medication time. However I understood where she was coming from. I am the mother of a teenager, so there is nothing that the cat can throw at me that I can’t handle.

This behavior lasted until 2 days after we stopped having to give her the Clindomyacin.

Miss Kitty survived and so did I.

I am happy to report that harmony has once again been restored. The cat gleefully jumps up on my bed at night, when she is not sleeping with the dog that is, and lays across my back, my side or whatever spot my sleeping position allows and purrs herself silly. 

The company of my cat was something I sorely missed. I’m glad she’s back.

OMG. For those of you who are not versed in “instant messenging” speak, that means Oh My God! I recently had to medicate my cat daily for a week. This is a task that is not for the faint of heart.  Of all the aspects about having cats as a pet, this has to be the worst. It makes cleaning the litter box look like a day in the park.

My vet, knowing that trying to “pill” my cat is about as difficult as trying to climb Mt. Everest barefoot and without a guide, decided to prescribe a liquid antibiotic. When presented with the liquid I was told that the cat needed to have it with food, that it tasted bad and that she would need a full 2 mls for each dose.

I thought. “ok, I can do this.” There are five of us in the house, one who interned at a veterinary clinic.  This can’t be that bad. Miss Kitty needed this medication and she would get it.

We were instructed to give her the first dose that evening. Luckily she was still somewhat stoned from the anesthesia she had earlier in the day, so although it was a challenge, she was more docile than usual and basically we medicated her without too much trauma.
The next night, without the benefit of sedatives coursing through her body, we had to give her another dose. This is where the fun begins.

I probably should have had the taken some anti-anxiety meds or at the very least had a glass of wine before attempting to medicate our cat.  As it was, I went about this chore completely sober and this may have been a mistake. Either the cat or I should have had something because by the time she got the last drop of antibiotic the cat was miserable and hating everyone and the kids and I were a jumble of frayed nerves.

On day 2, after we were sure Miss Kitty had eaten, we set about doing the deed. It took three of us to corner the cat in a room, because even on a good day picking up Miss Kitty is never a good idea. She is extremely affectionate, but only on her own terms.  I tried to “cuddle” her against my chest, while someone tried to pry her mouth open and inject the liquid a bit at a time so that she would get it all but not choke. I wish I had been a fly on the wall to see what this looked like. The cat squirmed, hissed and meowed, although this sounded more like a high pitched wail than an actual meow. I could not keep her claws retracted or her paws from swatting at me. Anyone thinking that it cannot really be that difficult to hold a 7lb animal still for a few brief moments, think again.  This adoring creature that curls up on me, the dog and every member of the household and purrs with content and joy on a daily basis became a hissing, screaming, bundle of frenetic energy that fought me as if I was setting her tail on fire.

She managed to escape my grasp and we had to start all over again. For a while we played a game of catch and release, or rather catch and escape. We would get a hold of the cat and she would manage to get away through a combination of claws and wriggling and ferocious hissing. By now I was thinking “forget the wine, I want a martini.”  Eventually, finally, at very long last, after chasing the cat over, under and around the furniture, we came up with a strategy that worked.  I had to basically sit over the cat, not on her but over her, grasping her two front paws firmly together while someone else held the scruff of her neck, at which point my vet-in-training pried open the cats jaws of steel and administered the life-saving meds as my 11 year old jumped up and down in the background screaming.

That was day two. Five more to go.

There has got to be a better way!

If anyone know of one please share your words of wisdom.

Now, where did I put that martini shaker?
Cat-themed gifts, jewelry and home décor at Whales & Friends.

I have taken my various animals, which have included cats, dogs, ferrets and fish, to several different vets over the years as moving long distance dictated changing veterinary offices. In my experience, there are basically 2 types of these medical professionals.

“The Animal Lover” is a person who has a house full of pets. He or she will sit on the floor to play with your dog until his tail wags with the intensity of jet propulsion and laughs when a nervous pooch accidentally pees on their shoe. They have pockets full of treats that keep your dog’s nose glued to their lab coat. You have the sense that their pockets are always full of treats even when they are not at work. When faced with a terrified cat stuck to the side of a pet carrier with claws bared, this vet will open the door of the carrier, walk to the other side of the room and pretend that the carrier and its hissing contents are not there, allowing the animal to feel a little less threatened. When the  hissing and screeching sounds subside, this type of vet will look into the carrier and speak calmly to the animal.  By the end of the visit, this very put-out pet may or may not be purring, but at least its ears are no longer pinned back in terror and murderous rage, and whatever medical attention was needed has been successfully given.  When taking your vet to “The Animal Lover” you should be prepared to wait a little longer to be seen and understand that you will be there for a while, as this type of vet is frequently running late, not because they are rude or unaware of the importance of time, but because they are conscientious enough to actually spend time talking to you about your pet. They make it a point to answer all your questions without seeming impatient, and do not want you to leave their office until they are sure that you understand your pet’s condition and treatment, and they have answered all your questions.

“Dr. Cranky” aka “Why Did I Become a Vet?” is a person that is having more than just a bad day. They are probably trying to figure out why they spent 7 years in school to care for animals. If they have not questioned this huge life decision then perhaps they should. I have met this type of vet. It was not a pleasant experience for me or my pets, and it clearly was not what the doctor wanted to be doing either. This type has zero patience for a terrified cat or nervous pooch. They run their office in an efficient manner, usually with military precision. They give you and your pet the allotted time scheduled for the appointment and if you still have concerns or questions, well too damn bad, other clients are waiting. When faced with a cat that does not want to come out of a carrier, they turn it upside down and then proceed to reach and tug at the terrified animal until they successfully get it out. That is if you consider it successful when the animal is curled up in the shape of a capitol C with its ears pinned down, its tail puffed up and it’s making noises normally only heard during a Freddy Krueger movie. I shudder to think of the repercussions of an animal peeing on this vet’s shoe. The nervous dog stays nervous the entire time the vet is in the room. Its tail stays between its legs, its head is bowed down and it shakes until your heart breaks watching. The vet appears impatient and put out during the entire visit until the very end. The end of such an appointment can be signaled when the time-share type sales pitch begins as they try to peddle whatever brand of dog food or supplements they are selling. At this point they may actually smile.

If you encounter this type of vet, grab your pet and run, do not walk, out of their office. Tell everyone you know with pets about your experience so that no other pet or owner is subjected to Dr. Cranky.

About two years ago, my mom acquired a new member of the family… a very large black cat named Boo. A friend of hers at work was moving and she was not allowed to bring her cat with her – a very common problem – so my mother, being the loving soul that she is, offered to take Boo in. He was a happy cat, two years old, neutered, and he had a very relaxed aura about him. He loved to be held but only on his terms, and for those of you that own cats you knows that’s pretty normal. I was away at school when I got a phone call from my mother saying that Boo didn’t seem to be feeling well. He kept going into the litter box but was not producing anything. I told her to call the emergency clinic and explain Boo’s distress. She called and described Boo’s symptoms and asked what they suggested she do. They said that she could bring him in that night to the emergency center, but that he could probably wait until the morning to be seen by his regular vet. With word that he could wait until the next day, she kept watch over Boo and headed for the vet first thing in the morning. Sadly, Boo passed away in the car on the way there. We were anxious to understand what had happened to our beloved pet… why he had died so quickly after showing signs of feeling ill. It turned out that he had a urinary obstruction – neutered male cats, around the age of two, tend to get these especially if there is a lot of ash in their diets.

Disclaimer: The information listed in this post – and all Whales & Friends posts – is not intended to replace advice from a veterinarian. Any and all health concerns regarding any animal should be discussed with a licensed veterinarian. Urethral obstruction is a serious condition, and left untreated, can be fatal. The normal flow of urine can be obstructed allowing toxins build up in the blood, leading to uremic poisoning. Death can result within 72 hours. Treatment of obstruction may consist of catheterization, fluid therapy, antibiotics, and in rare cases, surgery. If your cat shows any symptoms of distress, lethargy, using the litter box often but with little or no urine output, frequently licking his genitalia, or suddenly attempting to urinate in unusual places, contact your vet immediately.