vituperation

So it turns out that some things in life aren’t nearly as bad or as scary as you build them up to be in your mind.

’nuff said.

I hereby dedicate this section of the entry to my readers in Australia, who think I write too much about my cats and have language too strong for their delicate sensibilities.

Tuesday morning I woke to find a pile of stinky, moist catshit in the hallway outside my bedroom. At the very end of the shit, there was a single bright red spot of blood.

Pretty rank, if you ask me.

I knew immediately what the problem was: Tubby’s anal glands, which tend to get infected because he’s so damn fat. Sure enough, his ass was all dirty again, almost as bad as it had been on Saturday.

Robyn called the vet while I was at work and made an appointment for 4:00 that afternoon. Getting Tubby into the box and to the vet’s office was uneventful, though he was sure to make his displeasure known. He was even pretty calm at the vet’s office, headbutting the 90-pound assistant and rubbing all over everything. He didn’t mind getting weighed (TWENTY TWO POUNDS, holy shit!) and didn’t complain about getting his temperature taken, and even seemed to enjoy having his internal organs palpated by the veterinarian. All in all, he was fine, and had a grand old time.

Right up until he had the vet’s big thick finger shoved up his ass, that is.

I have never seen a cat lose his shit the way Tubby did. Watching him scream and spit and flail around, the vet’s assistant more or less hanging on for dear life, I was reminded of both The Exorcist and Urban Cowboy. Of course, I can’t blame him. I imagine I’d act the same if someone stuck a baseball bat up my ass.

The vet was pretty fucking incredible, though. His finger stayed firmly wedged in Tubby’s ass, much like Little Jack Horner’s thumb, and he kept it there for the whole ride. Hell, he even gave me running commentary about the state of Tubby’s anal glands while he did it. If you’re curious, the right one was pus-filled (and oh, what a smell that was when it shot out in a ropy green stream) and easily emptied, but the left one was inflamed and very hard.

It was the considered opinion of the vet that this left anal gland is what turned Tubby into such a spitfire.

The assistant held on for dear life, and Tubby made so much noise a second assistant came in to see what was going on. She ended up helping the first one hold Tubby, and the vet finished squeezing everything out of Tubby’s ass that he could. When he finished, the metal exam table was covered with shit, pus, and blood.

Tubby calmed right down, once the finger was out of his ass.

The second assistant started to leave, but was stopped by the first one.

"Hang on," the first assistant said, and pointed at a big dollop of blood on the exam table, "that’s me."

She held out her left arm, and the better part of the sleeve from her elbow to her shoulder was soaked with blood.

I went all weak-kneed. Man, that was scary.

She ran out of the room, leaving the second assistant and the vet to clean Tubby’s ass and the table with some aerosol something or other. Mostly I stood in the corner and quivered, wondering if I was going to get sued or have to pay a hospital bill.

The vet gave Tubby shot necessary to get him up to date on his vaccinations, and left to get me some antibiotics to give Tubby for his infected left anal gland.

I continued to quiver in the corner, worrying about all the blood I’d seen on the assistant’s shirt.

Finally the doctor returned and gave me the pills. They’re liver-flavored, to be appealing, but Tubby still has to have them rammed down his throat, the bastard. He - the doctor - also told me Tubby needed to lose weight (duh) but had no good suggestions on how to do it since we have five cats and they’re not all fat.

As he finished up, the first assistant returned, to show me she wasn’t hurt too badly. It turns out Tubby’d hooked one of his big meaty feet into her upper arm, and put a big set of deep punctures there with his claws. She was fine, so I guess I’m not going to get sued or have to pay any extra hospital bills.

Thank God.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotten myself all tired and need to go nap for a bit. I’m sure you’ll hear from me in the near future, and if there are any glaring holes or typos in today’s entry, I apologize; it’s the Demerol talking.