Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
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M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
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Wednesday, February 12, 2003 Al Dente My cat and I are both having some dental work done today. Obviously, it’s a lot more difficult to get one of us to open wide for the power tools than the other. Orca had to be crammed into a box, bundled screaming into the car, taken for a half-hour drive (during which she never left off her panicky, betrayed howling), physically wrestled into the office, abandoned there for the day, and rendered profoundly unconscious so she could get her teeth fixed up. I’m just glad she’s easier to get into the dentist’s chair than I am. Orca’s intelligence makes it rather a challenge to get her to the vet. When I pull out the cat carrier, her turbo boost/cloaking device combo kicks into effect and the only way to run her down is to set fire to the furniture. That gets expensive, so I prefer to outwit her. Except that she’s not a lot less smart than I am, and when you adjust for her lack of thumbs, language skills, and ability to walk upright, we end up fairly evenly matched. Plus I wanted to leave at 6:30 a.m., a time when I can normally look forward to another hour of sleep, which left me at a crippling disadvantage. So what I did was, I took out the cat carrier last night, as soon as I got home from work. I cleaned it out and left it standing in the middle of the living room with its door open. I arranged a cozy U of M sweatshirt on its floor. That way, Orca could wander in and out of it as she pleased. Which she did. I dared to think there might be a chance that she would sleep in there for the last part of the night, and in the morning I could just go downstairs and close the door. The likelihood of that happening was roughly equal to that of my getting in my car, flipping on the cruise control, settling back for a nap and waking up at my destination. But you never know unless you try. (You shouldn’t actually try that other thing, by the way. Professional driver, closed course, et cetera.) I also picked her up several times over the course of the evening. I’d give her a little affection, scritch her ears, compliment her fashion sense, and put her back down where I found her. That way, I figured I could lull her into a “he’s going through a ‘picking me up and putting me down’ phase” sense of security. All of this might account for the aforementioned “betrayed” note of her cries when I popped her unresisting form into the cage this morning. The fact that she had to fast all night to prepare for the anesthetic—and then listen to me feed Strat once she was incarcerated—didn’t improve her mood any. I was glad that wasn’t my favorite sweatshirt in there with her. The vet called earlier and said Orca had done just fine under anesthetic (whatever that means; doctors say that about people undergoing surgery too, that “they did great,” as if the patient had to scrub in or tie a couple of their own sutures or do anything besides lie on the table and be an immobile husk) and she was in great shape for a cat her age. She suggested that we might need to start brushing the cat’s teeth on a regular basis. When I relayed that recommendation to Trash, she said, “Has she met Orca?” I can only assume that the vet didn’t get to spend any time with a fully-conscious Orca; otherwise she never would have been able to get those words out without being struck by lightning. I’d rather turn on the garbage disposal and polish the blades with my fingers. I get to pick her up tonight and bring her home, but I’m going to have to watch out for her. This is the first time she’s been under anesthetic since we had her fixed over a decade ago. I’ll need to close off part of the house so she doesn’t tumble down the stairs, and keep Strat away from her so he doesn’t smell other animals from the clinic on her and knock her ether-addled ass over. On the other hand, something tells me she’s going to be willing to put up with a lot more petting and attention from me than she usually does. Or at least unable to not put up with it. Too bad my own teeth will be too sore for me to enjoy it. posted by M. Giant 3:31 PM 0 comments 0 Comments:
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