Sorry for the lack of posting. There’s been SICKNESS in my house. First the cat, then the kid.
Noticed Ferrule having a issue with peeing Monday evening. And then he went a little in a box in the entry hall. When he finally got to his preferred urination point (the bathroom sink), he peed blood. YIKES!
Upon discovering the issue, I sought him out of his usual hiding place. I pulled him into my lap and gently rubbed his belly to make sure his bladder was indeed empty. It wasn’t. It became empty under the pressure all over my lap. At least he got some relief. And I learned the when the garment is washed promptly, bloody cat pee does not stain or leave a stink. A lesson that would prove valuable.
The vet was called and an appointment was made for Tuesday after work. Work was hellishly busy. I didn’t even stop for lunch, choosing instead to eat my meatballs while maintaining obligations. The work wasn’t done when the day was over, but I had a cat to transport to the vet. And as long time readers may already know, vet visits with Ferruleare always entertaining. That is if you’re a masochist.
So I picked up the family and we rushed home. I swooped in on the Ferrule, roped him into a harness, and them put him in a blanket-burrito style. He stared at me with his wide blue eyes wondering why the aggressive snuggle time, but hey, it’s mom, I’ll take it. Yes, he really loves me. He snuggled into his warm burrito feeling safe and secure right up until I carried him past the threshold into the big scary outdoors. YOWEEEELLLLL! Have I mentioned that he’s part Siamese? Now all the new neighbors know as well. I mean the ones that moved in down the block.
And as if the BIG SCARY OUTDOORS wasn’t torture enough, I carried him straight to the TACTICAL FOUR WHEELED DEATH MACHINE (it’s black, must be tactical). We then proceeded to drive the one half mile between our house and the vet’s office. I’m sure the torture enhanced transportation techniques violated some Geneva Convention. Or at least, that’s the story Ferrule was telling at about 400 decibels. *Note to self, use ear protection when transporting the high strung Siamese.
His 2 full minutes of torture ended in the parking lot of the vet. As did his bladder control. At least I know cat pee laundry secrets. (Told you the lesson would come in handy). We slipped into the vet’s office stealthily. The vet actually laughed when I told her we were trying to be subtle. That is, after I repeated myself because she didn’t hear me over the YOWEEELLLLING the first time.
The vet thinks he is probably suffering from lower urinary tract disease and needs to eat food that will acidify his urine. That way he can just dissolve the crystals that are forming in his urethra. Apparently, they are not power crystals and will not increase his life force. Hooray! $26 for 4 pounds of food. Oh, and by the way, since he peed all over himself could ya maybe, if it isn’t too much trouble, catch him in the act and collect a urine sample?
So we packed him back into the TACTICAL FOUR WHEELED DEATH MACHINE for the trip home. More YOWEEELLING. I’m waiting for a return visit from the UN inspector. And the AFLU (American Feline Liberties Union) is certain I’ve violated something in this whole adventure. If not with the torture enhanced transportation techniques, then certainly with the bath that followed What, you expected I would let a urine soaked cat have run of the house?
So after a couple of adult beverages, the Evylrobot and I settled down for bed. 10 minutes later, the alarm went off and we began the morning stumble through work preparations. And then the Weebot awoke. Hack! Cough! Looked enough like death that I was checking for bite marks. You never know when zombie might slip in and we had neglected the bedtime closet check. Sent the kiddo back to bed and took hubby to work for his 10th consecutive work day at the new job. And I stayed home with the petri dish.. And the empty EMPTY coffee container.
No caffeine for Jennifer. None. And yet, I survived. But I would be telling you horrible LIES of a liberal scale if I said I didn’t miss it. In all honestly, I was writing sonnets in my head to the poor neglected coffee cup sitting forlorn on my desk at work. But we survived. And even though the next morning came before even the merciless god of morning awoke (Hubby had to begin his 11th consecutive day at 6am), I found myself looking forward to the workday and much awaited visit with my mug.
I returned home from dropping hubby off, Weebot had not yet awakened, and had a nice warm shower. I dressed in a smart, professional outfit complete with Italian leather heels. But alas, the caffeine gods would not smile on me this morning. The Weebot awoke still suffering from the plague. So I sent him back to bed and removed my Italian heels donning instead some white athletic socks to compliment my mom attire.
I attempted to snooze on the couch with a valiant effort by a pair of Siamese sleep aids. But the thunderous pulsing in my head would not allow it no matter how rhythmic Emerson made bread and purred. Once the kiddo revived, we decided to go and get drive thru breakfast. You people at McDonald’s at 8:30. Seriously? Pull all the way up. You do not need to leave space between your front bumper and the rear bumper of the vehicle in front of you. If you do, you leave the ass of my car (driven by a very caffeine deficient driver) hanging out in the street. And the honking? Not helping. You’ll be pleased to learn that I did not shoot anyone.
Oh you sweet, sweet caffeinated elixir. I’ve been waiting for you oh so impatiently. At this point, no, I don’t care about the delivery system of the caffeine. Intravenous might have been my first choice. And the Egg McMuffin. Oh the delicious delivery of a substance that must be crack.
There was eating. And movies. And a very not housewife Jennifer clinging to any Facebook message out of need for ADULT COMMUNICATION. If you talk to me about Bakugon or Mario, I swear I will punch you in the nose. Curse you bouncy mushrooms!!!
He seems to be feeling much better. And this scratch in my throat? It’s nothing. Really. It would be INCONCEIVABLE (we watched Princess Bride today) for me to have come down with anything my precious little petri dish was carrying while sharing only the 400 square feet with him for the last 48 hours. INCONCEIVABLE!!!