See, what I do is, first I give him his three pills which he’s been getting for years so he’s pretty used to just swallowing them down. When he’s sick or dehydrated it’s harder because they get stuck in his throat and make him puke. Then I deal with the new medication, which is a syrup that makes him froth and spit up even though it’s supposed to taste good to cats. I put a tiny bit in a syringe and fill the rest up with Friskies gravy. Then I get more of the Tylosin and mix in more gravy and I keep doing that until I’m done. Usually there’s a small mess to clean up after we’re finished. Sometimes I need to change my clothes. Then I get his food, which these days is basically anything he’ll eat. He never eats a full meal so I have to set it aside and try again later. Sometimes I have to try multiple times, and sometimes it works and he finishes and sometimes it doesn’t and I fret.
You want to make fun of me for how much I’ll do for my cats. I want to pity you for not knowing the deep joy and pain and love and pain and sweetness and pain that I’ve had the great luck to live with daily. I don’t regret a single minute or a single dollar of it and I feel honored–if I had religion, I’d probably say “blessed”–to have stumbled into Max all those years ago.
No related posts.
Filthy Tree Hugger
September 2nd, 2010
I would like to hurt the person who made fun of you for all that you do for your cats. It is OBVIOUS you love and cherish them. Why else would you do what you do? It’s not like you are always talking about how hard it is (note: I do recognize how hard it is) in fact, I did not know how sick your kitties were until just very recently which goes to show how little you focus on their illness and how much you focus on their cuteness.
You are an amazing caretaker with a GIANT heart and I can’t believe anyone would make fun of you for all that you do for your ‘lil kitties.
PS: It wasn’t me, was it? I really don’t want to hurt myself.
Ironicus
September 3rd, 2010
We had a greyhound who, for the last few months of his life suffered from canine dementia and loss of feeling in his back legs. This meant that we had to walk behind him gently holding up his back end while he wandered about looking for a place to do his business–if he remembered that was what he was supposed to do that is.
We helped him lay down and listened in the deep night for the scratching sound he made if he tried to get up. He couldn’t stand up to eat so we fed him as he lay next to us leaning up against our leg.
It was hard, it was frustrating, it was depressing and it was the most important and gratifying thing we ever have done and when he died one spring day at the age of 15 we would have given anything to have been able to do it longer.
If you have to explain to people why your animals deserve the care you give, and why you willingly, lovingly give it, they will never understand.
Jenna McWilliams
September 3rd, 2010
brb recalibrating theIronicusMaximus respectmeter to account for recent quadrupling