Sicker than a dog...

Within 10 days after adopting Moses, I was eligible for a free check-up with a veterinarian on a list from the animal shelter. I chose the closest one to my house, Kensington Veterinarian Hospital. I have jogged past it several times, so I was familiar with the location. Granted, I jog so quickly that I only had a vague idea of its location.

On Tuesday August 14, I made an appointment for Friday the 17th. At that point, I was mildly concerned with Moses' excessive sneezing.

On Wednesday, a friend described Moses as having "kennel cough." I was less worried.

On Thursday, however, Moses began coughing violently and vomiting. (It was a clear, foamy liquid).

By Friday, Moses just sat there, pathetically, because he'd start to cough if he laid down. I was so happy to go to the vet's office.

While Moses was getting weighed and all of the basic check-up procedures before the doctor came into the room, he puked. Secretly, I was glad, because what better place for my cat to get sick than the vet's office? Also, it was the first time I had seen anything red when he vomited. The tech cleaned up and brought it to the vet, who confirmed it was blood, most likely the result of an irritated esophagus.

The vet examined Moses. She then gave me a laundry list of things she wanted to do. She had the receptionist print a list of the projected cost. What choice did I have but to say yes? Besides, my guestimate was slightly over the estimate given to me, so I knew I could pay for it.

So Moses had x-rays and blood drawn and a saline injection to hydrate him. I prepaid for a stool sample (I echo your "yuck") and bought 3 different prescriptions.

The results? Moses had a severe upper respiratory infection and unexplainable vomiting. He had a pill for nausea, an antibiotic, and something else. He was a borderline case for the pet hospital, which would have easily cost as much as I had already spent. I could NOT afford that, so the vet told me to call the next morning at 8:30 to give her an update.

(Side note, one of the techs brought me a cup of tea, which I really appreciated. If I had left the examining room, I was not allowed to pet the animals waiting for their appointment, because of Moses' respiratory infection. A huge thank you to Andi and KD for responding to my despondent text messages while I was quarantined.)

The last thing I wanted to do was administer pills to a cat. Before going to the animal shelter, I had a plan. I'd adopt a cat and when he became old, sick, and needing pills, I'd put him down. I did not expect pills in the honeymoon phase of adoption.

I managed to give Moses the anti-nausea pill and the antibiotic. Now, the antibiotic had a side effect of an upset stomach. I questioned this pill choice, but hoped it wouldn't be an issue. The vet also sold me wet cat food with a strong odor, so Moses would smell food and have an appetite. I gave him food when we first got home. He puked before he ate and a just a smidgen after he took his first bite. Three hours later, while sitting in the bathroom with him running hot water to help loosen his mucous (yes, that was an order from the vet), he puked. He puked twice more that night; one of which narrowly missed me. It was his only projectile vomit.

I cried most of the night, because I wasn't sure if I could afford to keep Moses if he did not start getting better. I had already loved him too much to bring him back to the shelter. Plus, I was concerned they'd euthanize him.

I called the vet in the morning to report that he seemed to be breathing better, but he was still puking. They asked me to come in 45 minutes later for a 9:30 appointment.

He was given another injection to hydrate him. I was shown how to administer the injections by lifting his scruff and inserting the needle into his skin. This was a 5-handed job, and I only have 3. The vet switched his medications. I now had to pick up a prescription at Rite Aid, buy over the counter Priolsec, in addition to the original anti-nausea pill and an appetite stimulant. I was really overwhelmed. Here are two pictures of my pharmacy:

The pill pockets did not help. I had to cut the pills, so that is why there are two tupperware containers.

I had to hang the bag of saline solution as high as I could, so the liquid would drip faster.





The new pills were a winning combination. Moses has not puked since that Saturday appointment at the vet. I called two days later on Monday to update the vet. Moses was feeling better. So much so that by Tuesday, he'd only sit still long enough for me to inject 50ml of liquid. I was instructed to give him 150ml. I called the vet on Tuesday and was given permission to discontinue the injections. Moses had started drinking water again, so I was not worried.

Thanks to a lot of support from my friends, I successfully administered most of the pills to Moses. I was always successful with his antibiotics, which were the most important.

While this process was miserable and reinforced my qualms about bearing children, I surprised myself. I had kept telling myself I wouldn't be able to do it, but I did; and I have Moses as proof.

I am a legal guardian

Color me dumbfounded. (It's a shade of purple, for those of you who don't know.)

Upon becoming a pet owner, I am both fascinated and disturbed that I have been referred to as a "cat mommy." Not only have my friends referred to me as a parent, but so has the veterinarian. She of all people should understand that I am NOT a parent.

I admit, I think of animals as people to a certain extent. But as a child-parent relationship?

I can see how it's easy to consider oneself a caregiver, but I refuse to consider myself a mother to Moses. I won't do it. I will only concede that I am his legal guardian.

Perhaps it's because upon adopting him, I realized having children (you know, the human variety) is way scarier than I originally thought.

Can someone explain this pet/parent phenomenon (preferably by starting each word of the explanation with the letter "p.")? Truly, I do not understand it.

Meet my cat Moses

On August 11, 2012 I adopted a cat from the San Diego County animal shelter. They had named him Moe. A one syllable pet name is not effective.

The shelter was technically closed by the time I chose to adopt Moses. Upon meeting him, he licked my face. How could I say no?

He is 1 year 6 months old. Upon the recommendation of the employees at the shelter, I set up Moses in the bathroom at my cottage. This way, he could not hide from me under the bed.

So, we hung out in the bathroom. I sat on the floor. He walked around. He'd come near me, so I could pet him. I told him how I couldn't believe I had a cat. I had become a pet owner. The employees at the shelter had commented how the cat chooses the person as much as the person chooses the cat. I decided it was only appropriate to ask Moses if he wanted to be my cat. He responded by licking my face. It was settled.