A Blog devoted to progressive politics, environmental issues, LGBT issues, social justice, workers' rights, womens' rights, and, most importantly, Cats.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

More Cat Talk

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother/Sister Garotte of Courteous Understanding. What's yours?

Hey, why not? In other news from the House Upon The Hill, Gustav has suddenly developed a bad leg. He's walking like an old gimp (kinda like me, as a matter of fact), swinging his left leg out in an arc. Gosh, these gold-plated kitties. I mean, they oughta be, right, given how much they cost us on an ongoing basis. It wasn't that long ago that Gojira (the Wahwah girl) developed a mysterious fever after slurping down much of a glass of wine that I left on the back step (can't turn your back on this crowd for one damned minute). After thousand-dollar tests and an overnight stay in the emergency kitty hospital, they said they had no idea why, but she was definitely running a temperature.

Gus-Puss is not doing well. He was walking funny, and it bothered us because his mother died just last year - she threw a clot and her back legs were paralyzed and we were all afeared that the same would happen to him, heaven forfend. So we rushed him in to the doc. No easy task, given that the littul bastid won't let us touch him on a good day, even when we have treaties in hand.

The doc gave him a cortisone shot, whereupon his chronic herpes flared up and his eyes swoll up so bad, the poor kid could hardly see. His nose swoll up too, and he was red from his ears to his chin for weeks, with his eyes getting all disgustingly crusty.

So we spent a buncha time wiping his crusty infected eyes daily with a warm damp towel. Whereupon Bandicoot, probly in sympathy, decided he need an eye infection too. Blood red lids. Is there anything quite as gross as two eye-infected kitties? Never mind. I don't even want to know. So off to the vet we went again, and dear sweet kindly Dr. Shriro (he won my heart when I first took Faridah Peeples and Ramon to him and he walked in the room, said hello to the kitties, turned to me and said, "Are you their person?") told me the cortisone shot had lowered Gussie's defenses and the Coot had an opportunistic eye infection (the opportunistic little bastid), and sent me home with antibiotics and eye ointment for the lot o' them.

Well, Gus showed his take on the meds right quick. After we both had bled all over the towels we wrapped the little shit in so we could pill him, we put sushi bandaids (plasters for those of us as knows better) from Archie McPhee all over our various wounds and kicked his furry ass out onto the hill where he could please himself depredating the local fauna.

As for Bandicoot - that Coot, Coot Kittieboy - what a joy he is! I could medicate him singlehanded!! Sweet little pudding would just leap up on the bed twice a day and while he was complaining about his hard life I would swiftly smush the ointment in his eye. He would be bent for about five minutes, leaping off the bed and complaining bitterly, and then, all was forgotten and forgiven, and he'd be right back for his daily brushing and nose-smoochies. He has a very smoochable nose.

They're both mostly better now, though the Gus-Puss has resumed the Limp of Doom. Poor kid.

In an aside, Gus was a horribly abused kitten. My sister rescued him, and when she moved and couldn't take him, she called us, and we flew there and made big paperwork and returned with Gustav and his momma, Greta. Greta cacked last year from an invisible hear murmur. They were both very badly abused, though Greta was much sweeter of disposition. Gus is just a turd. But more on that another time. I gotta go watch Nausicaa now.

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