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Ike is a very spoiled kitty. He has slept in my bed since I got him, so when he isn’t allowed to lounge in the bed for the 23 1/2 hours a day that he sleeps, he doesn’t like it. Usually he’ll stand outside the door and cry, or try to stick as much of his arms under the door as he can so that I can see he’s trying to squish himself under the door to get in. And, usually, after a few weeks, I’ll give in, because I’m a sucker. I know that it’s my own fault, but I can’t stand looking at the sad face (this is why I would probably get steamrolled by my bad kids if I ever had any).

After I woke up the morning after Oktoberfest with all my clothes off except my underwear, socks, and shoes, I left the shoes in my bathroom. I left them in there for a couple of days, and around the Tuesday or Wednesday of the next week, I came home and realized that he peed in one of them. Not in my $9 Payless shoes, but in my $96 Docs. I was none too pleased about this, and threw the pissy shoe in his vicinity (though I made sure not to hit him - I’m not an abuser) to let him know how angry I was.

I tried to soak the sole in vinegar to get the smell out, but it didn’t work. And after a couple of days, the leather was so discolored that they were beyond saving, and I was beyond pissed.

I took Ike to the doctor, just to make sure he wasn’t infected again. I fought and got him in the cat carrier, and he cried the entire way (all 1.3 miles) to the vet’s office. Which, of course, makes me feel horrible. And put me on the verge of tears myself (shutup).

Ike does NOT like the vet (and who can blame him? everytime he goes, the cut something off, stick things up his butt, and/or shave his ass), and he fights with the techs who have to come in before the doctor (hence the big red sticker on his file that says “use extreme caution”). So I’ve gotten into the habit of telling them before hand that he’s aggressive, and will fight and scratch and hiss at him. And they always look at me like I’m an asshole, and say something like, “I do this every day. I KNOW what I’m doing” (much like the people at the hospital giving me a blood test when I tell them I’m a “hard stick”, and they still have to poke me six fucking times). So he stuck his hand in the carrier, and Ike wrapped both his arms around it and started biting him.

Haha, fucker. I told you.

He looked at me, and said “Would you mind getting him out?” So I took him out while he took Ike’s temperature, and then put him on the scale. Ike weighs fourteen pounds. But if you looked at him, you’d think he weighed twenty-five because of how big he is (he’s not fat, he’s big-boned).

So the tech left, and we waited for the doctor. When the doctor came in (who was by far the creepiest looking human being I’ve ever seen who wasn’t intentionally trying to scare someone with his appearance), he squeezed and felt Ike’s bladder, but he said it didn’t feel full. And offered me an expensive array of options.

“I can do x-ray.”

“How much?”

“Only about one fifty. One seventy five.”

“Do you think an x-ray is really necessary?”

“I don’t feel anything when squeeze. I can give anesthesia and catheter and drain urine.”

“How much?”

“Oh, four fifty. Maybe more.”

“Didn’t you just say you didn’t feel anything? What do you recommend?”

“I give injection to make pee. I test.”

“(sigh)How much?”

“About one fifty.”

“I’ll take it.”

So he brought Ike back fifteen minutes later, and told me that I have to give him antibiotics twice a day, and make sure he stays on his prescribed diet. The medicine made me laugh, because it’s pink and candy-flavored, like the medicine kids get. But it’s cat medicine. Why would a cat want candy flavor? Shouldn’t they make it tuna flavor? I don’t get it.

I haven’t caved on letting him back in the bedroom, but I probably will because I’m weak. And he’ll probably pee in my bed again, and I’ll get pissed (heh) and you can all say “I told you so”.

Wow. I really did just write a whole long thing about my cat.

 

 

Tomorrow night we’re going out to dinner for Kay’s birthday to a restaurant that is ALL about the garlic. It’s garlic heaven, and I can’t wait. I’ve been looking at the menu online, and I think I’m getting the 40 clove roast chicken.

I think this is a moment when Scott will be happy to be far away from me.

 

And now, I’m going to leave you lovely people with cute animal pictures. Last weekend, I dogsat for my friends DB and The Good Girl while they went to Houston. I had so much fun with those dogs it’s ridiculous.

Note how much larger Nick’s head is than mine. And that’s only HALF his head in the picture.

And Delilah. She’s my girl. I love her.

 

Um. I have no idea why those arrows got in my picture. Stupid screenhunter.

Um. I have no idea why those arrows got in my picture. Stupid screenhunter.