Kitty Carryall

Contrary to past experience, Kitty goes willingly and without a fight right into the kitty carrier. She meows at me and looks pathetically up at me as I make my way to the veterinarian’s. Of course it’s raining. What else would it be doing?

We sit and we wait. Not unlike any other doctor’s office. Only this one has a doggy entrance and a kitty entrance. I am not sure where the fish and birds and ferrets and snakes come in, but we have kept the natural rivals segregated.

I am growing wearier and wearier as I sit with my listless little friend in the waiting area and am unable to take her out to hold her. I desperately want to hold her. Instead I keep telling her in as soothing a tone as possible, “It’s okay, my little girl. It’s okay.” She’s not even meowing now.

We at last are led to an examining room where a lovely technician weighs Trinket. My scrawny little stray has gained a pound and a half! I could not be more proud of my ability to restore one to livelihood with a consistently good diet. Things are looking up!

When the vet comes in I am surprised at how much I want to tell her. I feel like I did when I used to take Pat and Hil to the pediatrician when they were babies. I wanted to show them off. Tell the doctor about all their accomplishments and all the things we were doing at home to keep them growing in a million different ways.

Trinket responds well to the vet. She is very sweet and soft spoken and owns a cat herself. She looks her over from nose to tail and has a lot of information to offer me. She is pleased with Trinket’s condition. I was surprised at how much that meant to me to hear her say that.

She gets down to business with a diagnosis. I tell her about the mouse, and that Trinket did not eat it. At least not this last one. Could there have been another? Sure. And a cricket and waterbug and moth and a slug too. My basement is a haven for such things.

She is not alarmed and does not look at me like I should be spending more time with a mop and a dust rag. She takes Trinket’s temperature. Trinket is not at all pleased with that.

And then with a series of gentle but firm squeezes, narrows down the possibilities. It’s not her tummy, though I might have guessed at that. It is centered on her lower back and her tail. Maybe both. Trinket may have injured her tail and back.

“Is she an active cat?”

Active? Let’s see. She has flown high enough to yank down window valances. Has gone from attic to basement in a blurr leaving a trail of fur floating in her wake. She takes corners at speeds that send vases and urns on end. I would say she’s active.

The vet surmises that in one of her flying escapades she got a little banged around. Perhaps even in taking down the mouse. She should be fine – but we can X-ray if you like…(Cha-ching.) Or we can do blood work...(Double cha-ching!) Or we can give you some syringes of pain medication to see how she does for the next few days… (Jackpot!)

I opt for the pain meds. 10 little syringes with a drop of pain medication in each, to be squirted into the check pad of said Kitty every 8 hours.

I can barely remember to take my birth control pill and now I have to do this?

I wait for and pay for the meds and drive kitty slowly home in the pouring rain, updating Charlotte and Scott and my office on the diagnosis and condition of my little friend.

I dose her when we get home, which she is not at all fond of. She gets a little wild-eyed and panicked at first, but then serenely curls up on a pillow and begins a 3 hour snooze, looking up at me very sweetly as she nods off.