The cat has been recently ventilated. Luckily I realised there was trouble at mill early in the piece and we visited the vet, both unwillingly. She was not keen on the box, the journey or the prodding - especially the thermometer but I can see her point. I also have a philosophical objection to having strange objects shoved up my posterior. I was merely cringing at the devastating potential of the bill in these delicate budgetary times.
The sum result - cat lost fight, cat has holey abdomen, cat needs pill twice a day.
The bill was not too bad. We will just have to sell one of the girl's spare kidneys, leaving one to sell on another rainy day.
Now my husband, being a courageous man, has agree to take on the bitey end of the process a mere 8 years into our relationship that has roamed across two cats, one of which had a very pilly old age. I now do the bit that stops her furriness going backwards or inserting her front claws into he-who-is-about-to-be-bitten.
My favourite part of the process is when the husb. has her jaws clamped shut, willing the little oofie to swallow. Meanwhile, Toast has a mulish look on her face in between mouth movements that are designed to move the pill to just behind the front teeth where it can be spat out as soon as the husband gives up his clenching vigil.
Oh, what fun.
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