Nothing Was Delivered

When it starts getting late, one of my cats, Warren, will go lie down on the bed and wait for me to join him. When I show up and turn the lights off, not matter how late or early, he takes that as his cue to go eat his dinner. Then sometimes he comes back and sleeps at my feet, and sometimes he doesn’t. It’s a little ritual we have.

So last night I wasn’t concerned to see Warren jump up on the bed around midnight. Instead of lying down, though, he started sniffing some pants I had put there. Then the crouch, and the look on his face. He looked right past me with that “really concentrating on taking a shit” look. I understood immedietly what was happening. This was inter-species communication at it’s finest.

I swatted him off the bed, and he finds another spot. I picked him up and brought him in to the litter box, but he wanted nothing to do with that. 5 minutes later I notice him peeing on a couple papers I had on the floor next to my desk. There was no need to stop him at that point. He was obviously determined to pee in that room at some point.

Something was wrong.The next morning I was getting ready for work, and saw him in a cardboard box trying to go. He didn’t look in distress or pain, but he seemed like he constantly had to pee, like a barfly who’s been drinking Coors Light all night and can’t hold it in for more than 5 minutes.

Luckily the vet was able to take him on such short notice. I had to leave work in the middle of the day, drive into Asbury to get my pet carrier out of storage, try to coax Warren into it quickly, then shoot down to Neptune. He was quiet most of the way. He’s not trouble, really, which is why I’m being so calm about this. I know he doesn’t really mean any harm.

Anyway, the doctor poked and prodded him for a few minutes, and the verdict is he should be okay. Probably a bladder infection, and we caught it early. Antibiotics for a couple of weeks and he’ll be fine. That does mean he can’t participate in margarita night on Thursday, but so be it.

Still, I’ve spent most of tonight chasing him around the house. You can see that look in his eye where he finds a little corner or a piece of cardboard on the floor, and realizes that he has to pee right then, right there. I still love the guy, but he’s not winning any Roommate of the Year awards.

I don’t mind spending a bunch of money taking him to the vet. He’d do the same for me. And I don’t resent having to miss work. I don’t even particularly get angry about the peeing, because it’s not his fault they don’t make Feline Depends. However, I am not looking forward to waking up early every day for the next couple of weeks and trying to contain a cat and then pour two (2!!!) medicines down a cat’s throat before work. Florence Nightingale I ain’t.