Saint Jésus, save us from the torment that is administering Louis Catorze’s Gabapentin. There is no punishment in hell worse than this.
It’s rather like throwing a live grenade into the mouth of an active volcano: you want to get it out of your hands quickly, but you don’t want to mess up your one shot, either, nor risk the angry volcano spewing the grenade back out and into your face.
Cat Daddy thinks the horror of this task is such because I am not calm enough, and that Catorze detects my stress and acts up. I suggested that he do it himself if I’m such a hindrance. He said no.
It’s a 2-man job, partly because 4 hands are needed but also for that “If I’m going down, so are you” sense of camaraderie. If you’re going to be slashed to smithereens it’s only fair that your partner is also slashed to smithereens, n’est-ce pas?
When we both go back to work, it’s going to be even worse: Cat Daddy usually gets up for work some time after me, but he will be forced to get up with me at 6am so that we can do the pilling together. If we leave it for when we get home, there won’t be enough time between the 2 doses. The only thing more horrific than this is the insult of having to get up early to do it.
“I’m sure that, on some level, he knows we’re trying to help him,” Cat Daddy wheezed as, together, we battled to restrain a kicking, yowling, hissing Catorze. And we watched in disbelief as he spat out a pill which then rolled through a crack between the floorboards and vanished forever.
Whether he knows or not, frankly I would rather take on the remaining 11 labours of Hercules.
(This surely counts as the first one?)
jesuisleroisoleil 
Oh boy🙁🐈! Quelle horreur … we also had to do the job by two. I took cat between the knees sitting on my knees on the floor and with one hand opened the mouth, put pill at the as far in as possible and then put hand over the mouth to close it, to prevent spitting. Cat daddy stroked the throat, to provoke a swallow effect and 7 out of 10 this worked. But it is indeed hard work though … wish you all the luck!
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Oh, and to your consolation: cat daddy didn’t want to do the job either !
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I “liked” this, but only because there wasn’t a “horrific sympathy” button. I feel your pain, but admittedly only a small percentage of it.
Popper is not a traveler. She hates being confined in a cat carrier, hates with a furious passion being in a car in a carrier. I dreaded making the move from Dallas to the mountains when it was time to fetch the bride and the cat. It’s a two day drive. We thought it was going to be ok because the bride’s car at the time was a Honda Odyssey, a van with plenty of room as the movers had taken the removable seats. We got a large dog carrier, with enough room for a small but decent sized litter box, and I built a stable holder for food and water on the opposite side of the prison cage.
After getting some cat tranquilizer pills from our vet, I was hopeful that the transit would go better than expected. I was wrong. I couldn’t get the pill down, using the vet method of placing finger and thumb at the back sides of the mouth to hold it open. Nothing worked. I called a friend who was well experienced in administering medicines of all kinds to her animals, and waited. She was successful and we got on the road. Popper was in a panic, howling and panting like a dog. It seemed like hours before she calmed down.
We got to the border of Colorado, and stayed in a cat friendly motel for the night. The next morning, I spit one of the pills and attempted the impossible. Popper’s mouth held open, she was wrapped in a blanket to keep the struggle to a minimum. Popped the pill in, and attempted to stroke her neck.
But she bit my thumb to the bone as I watched the the cat saliva covered pink pill reach its apogee in a slow motion arc that ended with the pill stuck and firmly affixed high up on the nearby wall, a pink drip making its way downward. I imagined the maid wondering what the hell went on the night before.
No pill in her. But in some luck, there was either enough residual effect of the previous day’s pill, or poor Popper was just worn out, that she slept most of the rest of way to 8,000 feet above sea level.
And thank god our local vet here has her office in her truck and travels to her patients. Popper and I both vowed to never again travel in the same vehicle again for as long as we both shall live.
Sorry for your Historia Calamitatum, and sorry for the length of my comment. Best wishes to all.
(Wouldn’t it be nice if Catorze lay on his back purring with his mouth open for HGM to administer the medicine by dropping it into the maw?)
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