Les drogues ne marchent pas

Another day, another gladiatorial combat session in which I was the clear favourite yet came off worse. It was like Brazil-Germany in the 2014 World Cup all over again. (Louis Catorze was Germany, natürlich.)

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It seems we were a bit too over-confident when our expectations were to pop a pill into Louis Catorze every 8-12 hours. We’ve since had to lower the bar considerably to: “If we can find him, chuck a pill vaguely in his direction and, if it hits his face area at all, we’ve done well.” The photo shows where the pill landed this morning when he spat it out, first sticking to the cabinet then slithering undignifiedly down to the floor. (Video would have told the story much better but I needed both hands AND both knees to pin the little sod down, so no chance of filming.)

It’s just not working, is it? I realise he was prescribed these meds for a reason, but is it worth it persisting with this method? All I’m achieving is alienating a cat who used to love me and, to add insult to injury, he’s not even getting the stupid meds in his system. I think I need the liquid version of these pills, which was not in stock on Sunday. (And no, grinding these up into a powder and creating a thick-but-syringeable, viscous gunge doesn’t work, either. He still spits that out, but in vile gelatinous strings that hang from his mouth and trail onto my clothes and hair.)

When it comes to sick cats, it’s very difficult and I can see why people chicken out of giving meds. First of all, it’s not one of those “If at first you don’t succeed …” things; you could have a million attempts and get nowhere. Secondly, you have to reconcile in your own head something that is for the good of your kitty’s health, but which even a clever cat – which Louis Catorze most certainly is not – doesn’t understand. The poor little mite must think I have a split personality and that I’m going through a Madame Hyde phase, which means I guess I now won’t see him for a day or two. Sad face.