The Joys of Parenthood

For the first time in recent memory, I made concrete plans in advance for the weekend. The first weekend in May is always a big deal in my hometown: There's a festival, complete with parades, fireworks, carnival, midway, and hordes of screaming children and drunken teens and adults. I try to make it home for these festivities when I can, not because I love a parade (the novelty of that wore off about 15 years ago), but because everyone and their Aunt Jemima is in town, and it's one of the few chances I get to catch up with my usually widely dispersed family and friends. Given the fact that I haven't seen my immediate family since Christmas (and I haven't seen my brother since my sister's wedding in September), I was excited by the prospect of spending some quality time with them this weekend.

No such luck.

I had it all worked out: A friend and I were going to drive out to Virginia after work on Friday and spend a fun and relaxing weekend at my dad's place. Then on Tuesday night, I noticed a nasty bleeding sore on my elder cat's hindquarters. Bleeding butt sores are generally not good, and Louie appeared to be in some pain, so I made a vet appointment right away. Wednesday afternoon, Louie and I trekked out to Friendship Hospital for Animals (because my usual vet's office, City Paws, is closed on Wednesdays) via Zipcar to see the lovely Dr. Calder (incidentally, I was very impressed with her: She and the rest of the Friendship staff took great care of my baby).

After a brief examination, it was determined that Louie had ruptured an anal gland (gross). So he was fitted with a stylish cone collar (pictures coming soon!) and prescribed a 3-week course of antibiotics. I also get the distinct pleasure of cleansing the wound with a mild antibacterial solution once a day (grab an angry cat and try to wash its ass, then you will understand my plight). Needless to say, Louie is not a happy camper, and I wouldn't feel right leaving him in someone else's care while I gallivant around Virginia for the weekend. And so I shall remain in DC.

It took nearly 10 minutes to give Louie his pill this morning. First, he decided that he does not care for the chicken-flavored "pill-pockets" (for which I shelled out a good $7), so voluntary ingestion of the medication was out of the question. I then proceeded to pry his jaws open and drop the pill into his toothy maw. He swallowed it... and then promptly regurgitated it (and half of his breakfast) on the kitchen floor. Great. So I grabbed a new pill and started over. This time, he just spit it out on the floor. (At least it wasn't accompanied by partially digested kibble.) I picked up the now-moist pill and wrangled Louie for one final try. At last, success! Once I released my vise-like grip, he retreated to the corner of the living room and glared at me spitefully through his sad little cone until I left for work (for which I was now running incredibly late). I'm sure he will have forgiven and forgotten by dinner time, when we'll repeat The Dance of the Cat Pill. It's going to be a fun 3 weeks.