Of Felines and Stabbiness

This is an image of the humans’ superannuated feline.  Look closely.  She is hiding.

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She is not very bright.

The human female says that lately the feline has not been herself.  Really?  How can you tell?  The animal’s default setting is “semi-sentient sofa cushion.”

But here we are at the veterinarian anyway.

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I am staying well clear of the beast, because she has a habit of transmogrifying into a peeing, pooping, cat-shaped demon whenever she is brought here.  I am a supervillain– I know evil when I see it.

Fenrir’s fleacollar!  The animal’s blood sugar is 520!  Actually,  I do not know what that signifies, but the human female and the doctor both seem quite concerned.

Ah.  It appears that the feline will have to have medicine.  Or, should I say–a fourth medicine.  She already has three–two which are rubbed into her ears and one which is sprinkled on her food.  Oh, wait.  That food is prescription, so make that five.

(later)   We have now been to the apothecary to purchase the means to administer the medicine.

It was an amusing trip.  The human female is ill herself at present, and she must have had the aspect of an inebriate or addict as she presented her hollow-eyed, swaying self at the service window (after waiting for the woman ahead of her to roll the records from four insurance plans into one.)  She had to invent a birthdate for the feline and endure the clerk’s prattling about his mother’s diabetic canine.  It was all going well, however, until I whispered in his ear and he got a funny look on his face– and told her to go wait on a bench.  So she waited.  And waited.  I can only presume that at my suggestion he ran her name and/or her haggard visage through some database and discovered that she is not to be trusted with pointy things.

At last the clerk decided to let her make her purchase.  That is when the device that reads the plastic money-chits decided not to read hers.  Multiple times.  Then it grudgingly did read it, but the printer device ran out of paper just as it was printing a record of the transaction.

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You can see that she had to wait some more while additional paper was found, just so that last bit could be printed out and stapled on.

So here we are, with some gloriously sleek, pointy weapons syringes.

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Lots and lots of them.

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Soooo many that I bet the human female won’t miss a few.  Hmmm.  Where can I hide some stabby things where they will produce the most humorous and painful results?  Sock drawer?  Car glove-box?  I shall have to contemplate my options.

In the meantime, while I am sorry that the feline is ill, I will greatly enjoy watching the humans catch her twice a day and try to employ these needles unscathed.  It will be interesting to see who is most traumatized…

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7 comments

  1. Ugh. I went through the same thing with a cat. They thought it was diabetic, and after treating it for 2 weeks with insulin, it turned out only to be a bladder infection. Be sure there isn’t anything else going on with the fur ball, as it may not really be diabetic.

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