02.26.2004 9:33 a.m.
Traumatic experience

I have felt like the biggest piece of shit EVER since last night. The lowest of the low. A MEAN, MEAN lady.

I left work 10 minutes early last night, so I'd have a chance of getting home, wrestling the cat into the pet carrier, and getting all the way across town again before my 5:30 appointment.

Getting her into the carrier?

Not such a fun task.

I ended up calling my husband on the way to the vet's office, and told him that it was WAY too traumatizing for me to get the cat into the carrier, and he'd be in charge of that from now on.

I got home, and went to get a towel from the closet upstairs, and took it downstairs to cushion the cat carrier. She looked sort of suspicious right then. I gave the cats food and water, thinking it would keep her in the general vicinity of the kitchen.

I was ready to just quit right then. I felt AWFUL about taking her to the vet, when I don't even like going to the doctor. I had no idea what they'd do to her. I felt like a monster. I wanted nothing more than to change into my workout clothes, and run on my treadmill, and pretend I'd forgotten all about her appointment.

But I couldn't.

Because what if there's something REALLY wrong with her, and it gets worse if they don't find it now?

Then I'd feel EVEN MORE guilty.

So, I resigned myself to doing it. I had to get her in the carrier. Preferably without losing a finger, or my entire hand.

I grabbed her, held her little back feet together, and tried to stuff her into the opening of the carrier. She became a squirming, wriggling mass of flying cat fur and teeth and claws. She's a feisty little beast...that's for sure.

She managed to escape before I could get the door closed, and ran out of the room.

It took me a good 5 minutes to even get near her...in the same room.

After three more attempts, I finally got her into the carrier.

(Note to self: tip carrier up with opening at the top...easier to get the door closed before she runs out.)

After I closed the door, she started crying. She stuck both her front paws between the wires of the front door of the carrier, and pulled on the door.

She wanted OUT.

And it broke my heart.

She cried the entire way to the vet. I couldn't do anything but say, "I know baby. I'm SO sorry. I HAVE to take you. They'll fix you!" over and over and over again.

At the vet's office, she was told how beautiful her golden eyes were, and how petite she was. 6.5 lbs. as it turns out. Only 1/4 pound heavier than she was last year. She got a gold star for that.

After the vet assistant did the preliminary part, and before the vet came in to examine her, she found a corner underneath the counter edge and on the bench where the people sit. She curled up as tight as she could, and stuck her face under the sleeve of my coat. Perhaps she was going for the "if I can't see it, it doesn't exist" thought. Poor kitty.

When the vet came in, I had to put her on the counter again. He took her temperature in her ear, examined her teeth and gums, and felt her bladder. He said her bladder was REALLY full, which is somewhat unusual for a urinary tract infection. He also examined her kidneys, and said those felt fine.

He told me that basically, the only way we can figure out what's wrong with her is to do a urinalysis. He said I could either take her home with a urine collection kit, lock her in a room with food and water and a litter box, and bring a specimen in. OR we could leave her overnight, and hopefully she'd pee before tonight so they could do the test. He said the cost was the same either way.

I told him, "I'm trying to figure out where we'd put her in the house. I think it would be easiest to leave her here, but I don't want her to hate me. She's already so skittish...she'll get scared."

He said, "Well, I can tell you that it would be easiest to do it here. Then you can say I made you do it."

I said, "Okay."

After the vet left, and while they were getting the cage ready, I called my husband to let him know what I'd decided. I started tearing up while I was talking to him. He told me to "be brave."

After a bit more waiting, and after the cat had crawled in between the scale and the wall (as tight of a spot as she could find), the vet assistant came back in, told her to "say bye-bye to Mommy" and told me to go out to the front desk.

I got everything settled, went out to my car, and felt like crying.

I've pretty much felt like that ever since. I'm hoping they'll call soon to tell me she's peed and she can go home.

So far, no call.

*sigh*

I feel like I just took my child somewhere and left her there. I'm worried that she's scared, and lonely, and will be even more jumpy after this experience than she already was.

After I got ready for bed last night, I found Callie and brought her to bed with me. SOMEONE was going to cuddle with me and be petted, dammit!

I hope they figure out what's wrong with her, and I hope she doesn't hate me forever.

Food I'm craving: gummy bears
Song in my head: "Walking 'Round in Women's Underwear" - to the tune of "Walking in a Winter Wonderland"


|

back | forward

�