Sunday, August 29, 2010
Trips to the V. E. T.
Greebo, the elder of our two cats, was not feeling well. Funnily enough, she seems always to be the one in ill health; our other cat, Stimpy, is as healthy as a horse and could probably survive being steamrollered with no more than a mild headache.
The source of Greebo's discomfort was a swelling in the tear duct of her good eye which, apart from being quite sore, must really have been ruining the remainder of her view.
We stuffed the wretched cat in a picnic hamper and took her off to see the vet.
The vet sucked his teeth and told us there was no choice but to have the cat anaesthetised so he could cut open and drain the swelling. Not ideal for a 17-year-old cat.
I was rather hoping she could go under the knife there and then, but he wanted to get home for his tea and anaesthetic also requires the cat to have an empty stomach.
He sent us away, enjoining us to return the next morning with an unfed cat. I then had to spend ages in the waiting room while he printed off the required consent forms.
"I don't know what's taking him so long," said the receptionist with a nervous smile.
"He's probably googling the cat's symptoms," I suggested uncharitably, in the sure knowledge that nobody was going to be putting a knife anywhere near my face.
***
We returned the next morning to drop Greebo off.
"Has she been starved overnight?" asked the receptionist. I gave her a look.
"Why, yes," I said. "And we've mistreated her this morning."
***
Happily, the vet didn't take out any of my glib comments on the cat and she was none the worse for her operation. The lump has been removed from her tear duct and she now has a cool pink scar next to her eye that makes her look like she's been roughhousing with some other cat.
More importantly, she's much happier and once again has perfect ten-ten vision.
The source of Greebo's discomfort was a swelling in the tear duct of her good eye which, apart from being quite sore, must really have been ruining the remainder of her view.
We stuffed the wretched cat in a picnic hamper and took her off to see the vet.
The vet sucked his teeth and told us there was no choice but to have the cat anaesthetised so he could cut open and drain the swelling. Not ideal for a 17-year-old cat.
I was rather hoping she could go under the knife there and then, but he wanted to get home for his tea and anaesthetic also requires the cat to have an empty stomach.
He sent us away, enjoining us to return the next morning with an unfed cat. I then had to spend ages in the waiting room while he printed off the required consent forms.
"I don't know what's taking him so long," said the receptionist with a nervous smile.
"He's probably googling the cat's symptoms," I suggested uncharitably, in the sure knowledge that nobody was going to be putting a knife anywhere near my face.
***
We returned the next morning to drop Greebo off.
"Has she been starved overnight?" asked the receptionist. I gave her a look.
"Why, yes," I said. "And we've mistreated her this morning."
***
Happily, the vet didn't take out any of my glib comments on the cat and she was none the worse for her operation. The lump has been removed from her tear duct and she now has a cool pink scar next to her eye that makes her look like she's been roughhousing with some other cat.
More importantly, she's much happier and once again has perfect ten-ten vision.
