On se méfie

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We decided not to bathe Le Roi after all.

Well … when I say “decided not to”, I mean “were too scared to”. You’ve read about The Vet Incidents, therefore you know full well what a horror he can be. So, instead, we asked the vet’s advice when we took the little sod for his monthly steroid shot yesterday.

Between all Louis Catorze’s whining, struggling and kicking, the vet suggested that we sponge him down with plain water if he became too grotty. She also added tactfully, “The only problem with washing cats is that some of them don’t tolerate it.” Which is polite vet speak for, “Try it, and you will die.” Oh dear.

In other vet news, the next fun medical event in Catorze’s life, in a couple of months’ time, will be a blood test to check how his body is handling the steroids. Our vet knows what to expect and is preparing her battle gear already.

Le Roi est de retour!

The vet called at about 7:30 last night to let us know there had been a cancellation, so Cat Daddy took Louis Catorze in this morning for his blood test. I felt quite guilty not feeding him but, because he doesn’t really like food, rather than bugging me, he just watched me eat my own breakfast and slow-blinked politely. The photo above shows him mid-blink (please excuse the surrounding laptops, wires and crap – cropping the photo did virtually nothing to improve it).

The veterinary nurse had previously told Cat Daddy that they would try pinning Louis Catorze down again, “using more people” (more than 4!) and resorting to the sedative only if that didn’t work. We told them that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES was that to happen, and that they were to bypass the brute force and go straight for the sedative; some will disagree with this, I know, but, when a 3kg cat suddenly develops the strength of a grizzly bear and 4 people can’t contain him, it’s because he’s terrified and fearing for his life. I thought, and still think, that sedation was the kinder option.

And, having raced home like a nutter to see my boy, I’m happy to report that he’s fine: eating, drinking, trotting around with his tail up and rubbing gross hairs and cat arse all over our (once-)clean ironing. It seems that he’s already forgotten what happened: one of the joys of having a thick cat!

So we’re £345 poorer but the results will be back next week, and I’m going to be like an annoying child in the run-up to Christmas, fidgeting, calendar-watching and willing the days to pass. In the meantime, I’m to give Louis Catorze 5ml of liquid Piriton twice a day, “whenever he feels itchy”. So that’ll be all the time, then. But … not today. Today is all about cuddles and enjoying Dreamies irresponsibly.

La honte

I feel nothing today but deep shame at Louis Catorze’s behaviour, and frustration that we now have to go back to the vet again and (probably) spend a larger sum of money than anticipated. I can’t even bring myself to take a photo of him, because the 2 bald chest patches that he is now proudly sporting are a grim reminder that he was shaved for nothing. (He, incidentally, appears to have no memory of the incident; in fact, the dumb zozo was happily slow-blinking at me 15 minutes after we got home yesterday. We’ve just had a lovely cuddle, and now he’s gone outside to chase some bugs.)

Cat Daddy, on the other hand, is peacock-proud of his boy for standing up for himself. “Good for him! At least we know that, if anyone tried to kidnap him, he’d be fine.” Yes, I can imagine the streets lined with people just desperate to do that: he’s black, he’s scruffy, he’s dangerous and he costs a fortune to maintain. (Cat Daddy asked me the other day whether the cost of the allergy test would be taken out of the kitty sick fund that we’ve been saving up. YES. IT HAS TO BE. THERE IS NO OTHER MONEY. LITTLE SOD HAS BLED US DRY.)

So, other than the bald chest patches, life goes on as normal until Thursday.

Aux armes, citoyens! 


This evening we took Louis Catorze to the vet for his blood allergy test. The easy bit was getting him into La Cage, as the dopey saucisson has been using it as a bed all week. The hard bit was, well, just being there. If anyone has a cat who enjoys the vet experience and co-operates fully, I would love to know about it (and possibly also swap cats).

The nice nurse asked us to remain in the waiting room whilst they did the test. We asked how long it would take, and she replied, “That depends how well-behaved he is.” Gulp.

Minutes later she reappeared, looking flustered. “We just can’t do it,” she gasped. “He’s leaping around all over the place. He’s just too strong. Are you able to bring him back on another day, when more nurses are available to help? It’s just 2 of us today.”

Oh. Saint. Jésus.

“Erm, could we come through and help, maybe?” I suggested.

“You could try. Would he be better behaved with you?”

Silence, tumbleweed, crickets.

So, there we were: 2 nurses (estimated weight: 55kg each), me (63kg), Cat Daddy (93kg), all simultaneously pinning down a tiny 3kg cat. And … no. We couldn’t do it between the 4 of us, either.

Then Cat Daddy said, “I don’t understand it. He isn’t normally like this.” Yup – when things are this dire, lies always help.

So now we need to take him back on Thursday morning, have them do the blood test under sedation, and then collect him after work. They didn’t charge us this time – probably because they were so traumatised that they forgot – but no doubt the next time will be more expensive than the originally-quoted £280, due to the sedative and the extended stay.

And Cat Daddy will be taking him, given that I can never show my face there again.