The Last Word, But Truthfully, Probably Not

Q*bert's not in this picture because, well, that would be disastrous

I'm feeling a bit melancholy today.  Maybe it's the weather.  It's pouring rain.  I love rainy days, but they don't really help your mood, do they?  They're the kind of days where you just want to stay in your pajamas all day, snuggling with an animal and a book.  All of my animals have other plans though, apparently, so I'm sitting on the couch, sans cats, and with a computer instead of a book. But I am in my pajamas, so there's that. 

Anyway, if you've been reading my blog lately (or, well, ever), you probably can understand why I might be feeling sad and overwhelmed.  And I feel both.  Indiana's doing ok, but she's been even more work than usual, given that she's changed her eating habits yet again.  Plus, we're into itchy allergy season, and she's already an itchy mess.  Then there's the cats.

I wrote yesterday about the cats all being anemic, most likely from the mycoplasma infection that Mr. S came back with.  I got a call from the vet's office late yesterday afternoon, saying that they aren't going to run the mycoplasma test as planned but instead would treat three of the cats for it.  With oral doxycycline.  Every day.  For a month.  I asked about Gus, who wasn't tested this week, but is likely anemic as well.  Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, noooooooooo.  Let's not make Jen's life easy, and just put Gus on antibiotics as well, considering three of her four cats have anemia from an infectious disease.  That would make too much freaking sense.  No, Gus has to be brought in to the vet's office for bloodwork to confirm anemia.  Because it's so easy to shove a cat into a cage, drive him, crying (him, not me, but, well, probably me too this week), and then drag him into the back of the office, take his blood (during which time he will probably bite and or scratch the techs, knowing Gus), reverse the whole process, wait for test results, only to find out what we already know by the process of deduction.  I really want to cry about this, because I am overwhelmed with responsibility this week, and I don't have the time or energy to take Gus in, when I don't see the point.  Ugh.  I'm ranting, but I'm beyond frustrated about this.

Not to mention, the idea of giving antibiotics to four cats for an entire month is really overwhelming too.  Q is actually a dream about it--he's on antibiotics now--because he eats just like a dog.  He stands in front of his bowl and eats every single morsel of it, no questions asked.  I'm not even sure he tastes it, so it's easy to put his antibiotics in his food.  But the other cats...oh, it causes my heart palpitations!  Q eats by himself, but the other three cats eat together.  And they are not easy to feed.  The three of them get a total of five bowls of food every meal--three bowls of raw and two bowls of canned.  The bowl you put in front of one cat is guaranteed not to be the bowl that cat actually eats out of.  It's a crapshoot.  And during any given meal, each cat will walk away from and come back to the food over the course of an hour or so.  So there is no guarantee that one bowl will be finished before the next meal, and there is no telling which bowls will be finished and by whom.  So how, pray tell, am I to dose three cats this way?

The doctor's office says to separate them in different rooms during meals.  I get that, but I know my cats, and that's not going to go over well.  Anyone who owns cats knows they are creatures of habit, and they don't change habit easily, or happily.  And I don't blame my vet's office for this--it's not their fault my cats need meds--but I'm having a pity party, so I'm going to complain and get it all out.

I don't want anyone to think that I honestly have a problem with this.  I love my cats (and dogs) beyond measure, and would do anything for them, including jumping through hoops to give them medicine for a month so they'll be healthy again.  I am frustrated at what I consider irrational expectations from my vet's office.  I'd be happier right now if I could just have meds for all four.  And it'll all work out.  The cats will (somehow) get their meds, Indiana will start eating again, and all will be well.  Until the next time there is some medical crisis.  But I accept that as a part of animal-parenthood, something I took on when I adopted these amazing creatures.  They are my family, and even though I might want to put them in the naughty corner for five minutes or sixty from time to time, I wouldn't trade them for the world.