21/10: Bad sign
So the kittens apparently still have this unpleasant protozoan parasite in their guts. Not sure I want to get graphic about the symptoms. Let’s just say it involves strong odours. Stronger than usual. ‘Nuff said.
I say ‘still’ because they apparently had it when we bought them. We treated them, diagnostics seemed to suggest it was gone… Despite that odour still being ‘round.
It’s been a while, odour’s still there. Went back to the vet, and the damn bug definitely isn’t gone. So we’re treating them again. Much more aggressively this time. A suspension and a pill… The suspension, I can handle, been there, done that. The pill, well, damn…
Cats and pills, I’d heard stories. I’m not really a cat person, historically, but I’d heard stories. And coulda probably figured, even without having heard such talk that it’s not gonna be the easiest thing, getting a cat to take a pill. And now I (yes, I get all these lovely duties) gotta get these damned things into their guts twice a day, for eight days…
And there’s a bad sign. The vet has helpfully provided a sheet that describes how one pills a cat. On the front side, there’s the actual instructions, with photos. On the back, they’ve included the following bit of encouraging whimsy:
How to pill a cat
But hey. They didn’t lie. It was seriously ugly, getting to a method that works.
Putting the stuff in food doesn’t work—it’s bitter, they smell it. The chicken flavoured ‘pill pockets’ apparently aren’t to their taste, either. So we’re down to direct methods: pry the jaw open, put the pill in.
This, of course, as the above suggests, is hazardous. The kittens, they’re sweeties, really—got all their claws right now (the soft claws fell off… they’ve grown a bit… we’re putting more on in a bit when they stop growing quite so fast), but they’re not particularly vicious, don’t tend to scratch much (and I don’t make it easy, anyway). But they hate the taste of the drug. They squirm like crazy. And those claws, they do have them. And, because they’re kittens, everything’s a bit smaller than with a grown cat. Less skull and jaw to hold on to, smaller target to get the damned pill into.
And Louise especially is incredibly stubborn about it. Do the whole thing, wrap her like a burrito in a towel, pin her down, get that firm grasp on her skull and lift, and she just sets her jaw, refuses to open it, seems capable of sitting like that ‘til doomsday looking at you, determined expression in her eyes. Open it with your finger, and you have to use some force… which makes it bloody difficult to get the pill far enough back she can’t spit it out. And she does spit it out—five or six times, with her tongue. I’ve got decent reflexes, but getting the hand delivering the pill to her jaw quickly enough to clamp it shut and massage the pill down just isn’t on.
I win, in the end. Yes, cats are beyond stubborn, but I’ve got a good and readily offended sense of smell, and am determined this protozoan is dying this time, dammit…
So I get one of those ‘cat piller’ things—sorta like a dry syringe, use the same technique, more or less, to get it between stubborn feline jaws, fire it home, so it’s well down their tongue, and we’re off…
Sort of. Still gotta get Louise’s jaw, in particular, clamped shut in something like half a second after the pill’s in, or she’s still quite capable of ejecting it with her tongue. But that, I can do.
The moral of the story: don’t mess with primates. Some of us are just as stubborn as any cat.
And we’ve got opposable thumbs. And tools.
I say ‘still’ because they apparently had it when we bought them. We treated them, diagnostics seemed to suggest it was gone… Despite that odour still being ‘round.
It’s been a while, odour’s still there. Went back to the vet, and the damn bug definitely isn’t gone. So we’re treating them again. Much more aggressively this time. A suspension and a pill… The suspension, I can handle, been there, done that. The pill, well, damn…
Cats and pills, I’d heard stories. I’m not really a cat person, historically, but I’d heard stories. And coulda probably figured, even without having heard such talk that it’s not gonna be the easiest thing, getting a cat to take a pill. And now I (yes, I get all these lovely duties) gotta get these damned things into their guts twice a day, for eight days…
And there’s a bad sign. The vet has helpfully provided a sheet that describes how one pills a cat. On the front side, there’s the actual instructions, with photos. On the back, they’ve included the following bit of encouraging whimsy:
How to pill a cat
- Pick up cat and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on each side of cat’s mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
- Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat gently in left arm and repeat process.
- Retrieve cat from bedroom, pick up and throw soggy pill away.
- Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for count of ten.
- Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse in from garden.
- Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into cat’s mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat’s throat vigorously.
- Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill out of foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep up shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set on one side for gluing later.
- Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on it with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with a pencil and blow into drinking straw.
- Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink glass of water to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse’s forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
- Retrieve cat from nelghbour’s shed. Get another pill. Place cat in cupboard and close door just enough so that head is showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with plastic band.
- Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Throw tee-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.
- Ring fire department to retrieve cat from tree across road. Apologise to neighbour who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.
- Tie cat’s front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table. Find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by a large piece of fillet steak. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
- Get spouse to drive you to emergency room. Sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearms and removes pill from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home and order new dining table.
- Arrange for RSPCA to collect cat and ring local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.
But hey. They didn’t lie. It was seriously ugly, getting to a method that works.
Putting the stuff in food doesn’t work—it’s bitter, they smell it. The chicken flavoured ‘pill pockets’ apparently aren’t to their taste, either. So we’re down to direct methods: pry the jaw open, put the pill in.
This, of course, as the above suggests, is hazardous. The kittens, they’re sweeties, really—got all their claws right now (the soft claws fell off… they’ve grown a bit… we’re putting more on in a bit when they stop growing quite so fast), but they’re not particularly vicious, don’t tend to scratch much (and I don’t make it easy, anyway). But they hate the taste of the drug. They squirm like crazy. And those claws, they do have them. And, because they’re kittens, everything’s a bit smaller than with a grown cat. Less skull and jaw to hold on to, smaller target to get the damned pill into.
And Louise especially is incredibly stubborn about it. Do the whole thing, wrap her like a burrito in a towel, pin her down, get that firm grasp on her skull and lift, and she just sets her jaw, refuses to open it, seems capable of sitting like that ‘til doomsday looking at you, determined expression in her eyes. Open it with your finger, and you have to use some force… which makes it bloody difficult to get the pill far enough back she can’t spit it out. And she does spit it out—five or six times, with her tongue. I’ve got decent reflexes, but getting the hand delivering the pill to her jaw quickly enough to clamp it shut and massage the pill down just isn’t on.
I win, in the end. Yes, cats are beyond stubborn, but I’ve got a good and readily offended sense of smell, and am determined this protozoan is dying this time, dammit…
So I get one of those ‘cat piller’ things—sorta like a dry syringe, use the same technique, more or less, to get it between stubborn feline jaws, fire it home, so it’s well down their tongue, and we’re off…
Sort of. Still gotta get Louise’s jaw, in particular, clamped shut in something like half a second after the pill’s in, or she’s still quite capable of ejecting it with her tongue. But that, I can do.
The moral of the story: don’t mess with primates. Some of us are just as stubborn as any cat.
And we’ve got opposable thumbs. And tools.
Scott Garten wrote:
One of my kitties pattered into the Great Beyond a month ago. Several weeks before, Fritzi, my little black and white lady, sixteen years old, turned up missing. I searched high, I hunted low, for two days. The third morning, I stepped out my door to resume looking for her. There she was, waiting by the back sidewalk for the breakfast buffet to be set out. As I approached, she said "Meow." When I cuddled her, she purred in my ear. I inquired where she had been, but her three word vocabulary was inadequate for a proper explanation.
But all good things must end. This month ago, I opened the basement so the kitties who been cooped up the weekend could get out and flax about. Fritzi wasn’t up to much flaxing. I put her near food and water; she showed little interest. Later, when I went to bring her in from the cold of the night, I found a little black and white body. Whatever soul, whatever spirit she may have had had moved on. Two days later, when her final resting place had been excavated, and a proper shroud-pink for a lady- had been obtained, she was laid to rest.