Its only day number two and I'm already providing "content" that has zero redeemable value. ...Straight to the bottom.
Seeing as how my better half may be the sole person that looks at this little niche of the internet, I will use it to describe the festering sore on my cat's ass. Now that is entertainment.
Kitty went to the vet today to have his tucass examined. Apparently he has a penchant for midnight knife fights or some other such thing because there is a big puncture wound on the starboard side of his tail. Last night it was exposed in its full glory (or should I say gory) because he has now stripped all of the fur from the area surrounding the wound.
That was too much for me. Keep your festering sores out of sight and out of mind, that's the way I live my life. If kitty thinks that he's going to parade around with a big gobi on his ass, then he's got another thing coming. ...hence today's vet visit.
The visit marks my entry into the role of pet caregiver. Up 'til now, the most I've ever done is been on the receiving end of a vet office's obligatory post-visit follow up call. Even then I didn't really take any responsibility ("Yeah, he looks fine, but I'm not the owner - you'll have to call back to speak to Holly.") Anyway, who knew that kitty-totes were expected?
The vet and assistant gave kitty a cursory examination (he was surprising well-behaved - even when they deployed the rectal thermometer), prescribed antibiotic pills and some-kinda wipes, showed me how to dose a cat with a pill (apparently cats are more discriminating and pill-resistant than our omnivorous beagle), and that was about it. Kitty continues to live a double identity which caused a slight amount of confusion. "The Feline Formally Known as Friskie" wasn't catching on.
The vet advised me to keep an eye on the wound, wipe it twice a day, make sure that it doesn't close up or leak pus. ...great.
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