The RN and the Orange Tabby Cat's Veterinary Vacation
by Marijo Phelps 8/31/2010 / Pets
The RN and the Orange Tabby's Veterinary Vacation and Special Event
"Jo, come here, I think Hooney has a lump on his stomach." Mick had a frown on his face as our orange tabby, the one a few light bulbs short of a chandelier, happens to be his favorite of our four cats. Shhhh, please don't let the others know.
This cat has a pudgy problem, in fact the three year old daughter of a friend saw his photo and immediately said "Mama, that's not a tabby cat, that's a tubby cat". However astute that child's observation might be this cat has never had "lumps".
A few days later we are off on a tiny vacation for this boy who never leaves the comfort of his castle, our house. I thought he was a good traveler. That must have been in the past, the ancient past.
I get him situated in the pet carrier which barely fits in the front seat. He has a kitty blanket and mini sand box, what more could he want for the 45 minutes trip into Woodland Park? I am soon to find out. The yowling, caterwauling and angst begin before we have the truck door closed. It's nothing compared to the volume that he reaches by the time we get to our gate. I stick a finger through the side of the cage hoping to calm the boy down, he rubs and yowls ever louder.
If mommy's here then she can get me out of this mess.
I speak gently in my best kitty soothing tones. The racket gets worse.
I notice the new foal of our neighbors a pretty white baby near our mail boxes. OK that means we are 2 miles along with only 30 miles to go. Never mind that the speed limits are such that it takes 45 minutes, we can do this, can't we Hooney?
Out on to the paved road I notice the other neighbor's rescued zebras and his long haired Scottish cattle but will Hooney look, not even for a minute, he is too busy getting a raw throat. I scratched his chin again, at least he didn't bite the hand that feeds him.
We pass the llama far., the black eyed Susan flowers are almost two feet tall making a huge carpet for yards and yards covering the whole ground out to the pond. It's stunning but this is not a moment to stop and dig for the camera. The rhythmic meows in the seat beside me continue at an ever noisier pitch. Yes, this is my very persistent boy.
Soon I get a whiff of eau de chat scat. For those of you who didn't take French in high school, it is just as well. One sniff tells it all. This kitty who hasn't gone outside of his box in his ten years of life has just had a new adventure.
I pull over to do something, anything. Thankfully the 4 Runner comes equipped with paper towels and bottled water. I try. In the process I manage to get poop on the floor of the truck, in the door jam and then while closing the door. Hooney has already done a wonderful job of getting it on himself as he laid down in it.
The windows are down as we drive on and on and on to the tune of a high pitched, traumatized and traumatizing howling.
I am early, must be the speeding in hopes that this "vacation" will be over sooner if I get there quicker, it doesn't work.
I wrestled the large dog cage, kitty box, Hooney and eau de chat scat into the vet's front office. There is an old English sheep dog who is happy, his wagging stump thumps at the sight of us. Hooney, who rarely sees an animal larger than his seventeen pound self was actually quiet for a second and then hisses.
The dog is called in and I get poopy, ah, Hooney out of the cage and do mop up operation as best I can with paper towels and water, having forgotten the kitty wipes in my joyful preparation for the trip.
What's this, a purr? Amazing what mommy's lap can do to fix the woes of an abused tabby.
The doc soon pokes his head out of the exam room "Marijo, you can bring Hooney in now"
This worked, having run his protester out of steam, Hooney actually lets the vet poke and prod without too much fuss. On the scale he was "seventeen and change" according to Dr. Volz who is fast becoming one of my favorite people.
"Well, I am 99% sure your nursing diagnosis is correct, fatty lipomas would be my thought too"
At least he is very reasonable in his charges. All of this to confirm what mommy suspected to begin with. Now, we have the trip home. Does caterwauling volume lower just a tad or is it simply through the filter of my relief knowing my "baby Huey, ah, Hooney" doesn't have a malignant lump and is going to be OK?
(C) Marijo Phelps all rights reserved. Use with proper credits.
Saved by His grace in 1974, from 9 years of professing atheism into His loving arms. RN for 23 years, missionary with YWAM then statistical analyst for Every Home for Christ over 9 years. Living with my husband in the middle of a mountain meadow. GRIN! Wanting to spread the good news