A few days ago we discovered our cat, Jaz, was ill. We found her hiding in her cat house outside, refusing to come in and refusing to eat. She had been fine during the morning, but she’s 18 years old and tough as nails, so when she suddenly looks ill we get kind of worried.
After a failed attempt to bring her inside (I got bitten for my trouble), we decided to just check on her in the morning. The next morning she was the same, so we extracted her from the cat house to have a look at her. She seemed to be limping. She wouldn’t eat. She was walking very tenderly and couldn’t jump up onto the couch. I didn’t panic at all. No, not me, no sir-ee. Clutching her to my chest, I announced she needed to go to the vet. Immediately. Ben suggested, as he was about to leave for work, maybe I could take her before I went to work myself. This was the conversation:
Ben: Why don’t you just pop down to the vet this morning and get them to have a look at her.
Me: I don’t want to go by myself.
Ben: Why not? Are you worried it’s going to be really expensive or something??
Me: No, I don’t care about that, we’ll do what we have to do
Ben: Ok. So, what’s the problem then?
Me: WHAT IF SHE HAS LEG CANCER AND HAS TO BE PUT DOWN?!? I DON’T WANT TO DEAL WITH LEG CANCER ON MY OWN. I BET SHE HAS LEG CANCER.
Ben: <very calmly> She does not have leg cancer.
Me: As if you would know. It looks like she has leg cancer.
So we both took her to the vet that night. The vet wasn’t sure what the problem was. She was acting strange and (in his words) “like she’d suffered some sort of trauma”. I immediately decided that, on the very remote chance that she did not have leg cancer, she must have been hit by a car. Since she is old, we decided we’d better do some x-rays and get to the bottom of this (and mainly so Ben would see she did have leg cancer and he should have listened to me all along).
The x-rays showed nothing was wrong with her (I secretly thought she probably had some sort of invisible leg cancer and the vet was just trying to hide it from me so I didn’t get upset. I imagined I saw a knowing glance between him and Ben). He said the only thing he could see on the x-rays were a couple of big gassy type areas around her belly, but since Jaz didn’t earn the title of the toughest cat in the neighbourhood for nothing, she wasn’t reacting when he pressed her gut. In fact, he couldn’t even hear her heartbeat because she was purring so loudly. Even when he stuck a thermometer in her butt. So, we came out of the vet $300.00 poorer with some anti-inflammatories and instructions to come back in two days if she got worse.
We administered the medicine on the first night and made her sleep inside on the spare bed. In the morning Ben got up to check on her. From the other end of the house I hear “JAZ HAS JUST JAZZED HERSELF ALL OVER THE CARPET!” The cat was now completely fine. No limping. Eating like a horse. Cleaning herself and doing normal cat things. Completely, utterly, perfectly fine. Apparently she had been suffering a bout of constipation.
She had just taken a $300 dump on the carpet.