Snafu Update.
My catten is home.
He's still walking funny, he's got shaved patches where he had to have IVs put in, and he keeps following us from room to room, chirping and purring and looking worried that we're going to send him away again. He's never been a lap cat, ever, and we can't sit down without him trying to jump onto our laps... and then usually falling down again, because he's on kitty valium (and prednisone), and it makes him walk like he's failing a sobriety test on the side of the road. Technically, I suppose, he would be considered unsafe to drive with the drug levels he's on, even without the whole being a cat thing.
I'm never going to hear the end of it from my dad for paying $700 in vet bills for an eight year old cat that I adopted from the SPCA. And yet he's the one who's always scolding me for letting them be indoor only cats... despite the fact that when I was eight and we lived in this exact same duplex, my cat was killed by a car in our cul-de-sac. We'll manage. We always do. Snafu's a member of the family. He's traveled back and forth from Vancouver with us when we lived there, he and his sister made the trip across Canada in a moving van when we moved to London, ON, and then he made the flight back. And my dad might not like to hear it, but I'd have paid more, if it meant getting him back healthy and alive.
I'm probably also never going to hear the end of it over giving the cats filtered water (on the vet's advice) instead of tap water, and for the wet food that we need to give Boo for the next month (hi there, gooshy food, forty dollars a freakin' case good GOD). That's just too bad. If it keeps this from happening again? It's worth it.
Thank you so much for all your good thoughts and wishes, and for listening to me worry and fuss about my kittyboy. I know he's "just" a cat... except he's not. He's my cat.
He's still walking funny, he's got shaved patches where he had to have IVs put in, and he keeps following us from room to room, chirping and purring and looking worried that we're going to send him away again. He's never been a lap cat, ever, and we can't sit down without him trying to jump onto our laps... and then usually falling down again, because he's on kitty valium (and prednisone), and it makes him walk like he's failing a sobriety test on the side of the road. Technically, I suppose, he would be considered unsafe to drive with the drug levels he's on, even without the whole being a cat thing.
I'm never going to hear the end of it from my dad for paying $700 in vet bills for an eight year old cat that I adopted from the SPCA. And yet he's the one who's always scolding me for letting them be indoor only cats... despite the fact that when I was eight and we lived in this exact same duplex, my cat was killed by a car in our cul-de-sac. We'll manage. We always do. Snafu's a member of the family. He's traveled back and forth from Vancouver with us when we lived there, he and his sister made the trip across Canada in a moving van when we moved to London, ON, and then he made the flight back. And my dad might not like to hear it, but I'd have paid more, if it meant getting him back healthy and alive.
I'm probably also never going to hear the end of it over giving the cats filtered water (on the vet's advice) instead of tap water, and for the wet food that we need to give Boo for the next month (hi there, gooshy food, forty dollars a freakin' case good GOD). That's just too bad. If it keeps this from happening again? It's worth it.
Thank you so much for all your good thoughts and wishes, and for listening to me worry and fuss about my kittyboy. I know he's "just" a cat... except he's not. He's my cat.