Bright lights!

Got dragged off to the eye specialist today. If it's not one thing, it's another. I'm either suffering home alone in silence, while E goes out socialising, or being shoved into the carrier and subjected to trauma.

And so today they turn all the lights down, luring me into a false sense of security, then they shine bright lights straight in my eye!! Sheesh. AND they take a gazillion photos of it, with the flash spearing me time and again. Hateful.

The only good to come out of it was the knowledge that it'll probably be six months before I get subjected to that again.

I heard Dr Chloe say that if the eye had been cancerous when she first saw it over a year ago, I would now be dead. So in view of that, she reckons it's not cancerous. Hmph. Cold comfort!

More pee problems

Not feeling too well today. It hurts to pee and to make sure Ellen knew about it I went in the bath -- just so she'd see it and know that I was miserable. It's the worst thing when this happens. It's back and forth between the litter tray and the bath and the shower, just to get some pee out. It's been so long since I've had this problem that I thought I was cured, but it would seem not.

Anyway, Ellen dragged me to the vet, and to be honest I didn't protest too much. We saw Dr Jenny, who is very familiar with my fragile bladder, and she gave me some anti-inflammatories and antibiotics, which will have Ellen shoving pills down my throat for the next week at least. But at least I feel a bit better.

A side-effect is that I'm back on the urinary food and off the 'obesity management' diet -- woo hoo! Although I'm not sure for how long. (You'd think it would teach them not to put me on a diet?!) I have a feeling that Dr Jenny and Ellen are concocting something between them in that department, though. They've even tried me on wet food this evening - strange stuff indeed. Not sure whether I like it or not yet.

Still got my eye

The good news is that I get to keep my eye for another three months at least! Went to the specialist this evening (and I behaved extremely well, I might add), and once again suffered Dr Rachel and her accomplice to shine bright lights into my eye, and poke it and prod it, and take photos of it. Not pleasant! And I didn't scratch once! (Although I did hiss quite a few times.)

Anyway, Dr Rachel thinks it might have changed a little bit, but not too much, and she didn't think there were any raised lesions, so I don't know what Ellen was on about. All in all, they dithered and muttered and postulated and prevaricated, until they finally decided that the odds were slightly in my favour and I should come back in another 3 months.

So that's what we'll do I guess.

PS - Ellen is scooting off down to the island this weekend and leaving me home alone. And after I behaved so well too! Ah well, I guess it's better to be home than dragged down there.

More bad behaviour

Things are not all well at home. Ellen is going away soon and she's leaving me home all alone for three weeks! The neighbours will be around to keep me company, but it won't be the same. I hope she gets my catdoor fixed first! The new one hasn't been fitted yet.

Anyway, as a precaution she made me go to the vet yesterday. HATE the vet. I let her know it too. I did NOT behave very well. A true devilcat. He he he.

So I had my vaccinations. And then I was weighed.

Not good. It looks like I'm going to have to go on a diet again! The last one I went on (last year) didn't work, and it turns out that Ellen bought the wrong food. So she put me though the torture all for nothing. So now when she's back from her trip I'll have to go back on the diet food.

Not happy!

Suffering from an Evil Eye

It's been a while since I've posted -- sorry about that. Truth is, life has been trucking along nicely. I had another night home alone and I'm starting to get used to the whirring, speaking, food contraption. Sometimes I think who needs Ellen when I've got that?

Except I do need Ellen. Today's rather sobering experience has brought it all home.

We visited the opthamologist this evening. Ellen has been going on and on about my left eye, which has changed colour over the past year or so. Maybe longer. I haven't thought much of it, but we asked Dr Caroline to look at it when we visited last month and she recommended we visit a specialist.

So today we saw Dr Chloe. And now it seems as though it might be something serious after all. Or at least it might lead to something serious. Melanoma of the iris - skin cancer of the eye! Dr Chloe says if it changes colour, goes darker, I might even need to have my eye removed!

What can you say to something like that? How would I go with only one eye? I've heard that cats can't judge distance when they only have eye. This makes leaping onto things hard. (It's hard when you're carrying a bit of extra weight as well!) And probably Ellen would make me stay inside all day, or maybe build me a cat run, instead of being able to go in and out as I choose. But maybe it would be OK . . .

There is a worse scenario of course, but let's not think about that.

I will add, however, that despite these devastating tidings, I behaved beautifully at the eye doctor today. Only one half-hearted swipe and a faint growl. Other than that, I was placid and very very very good. Dr Chloe might actually even like me. (I think it's far too late to make friends with Dr Caroline . . . I really did behave so very badly last time I saw her.)

Ellen is going to take a photo of my eye . . . I'll post it here when it's ready. Will keep you updated on the saga of my evil eye in true devilcat fashion. Is this karma?

Obesity management -- not!

Things are definitely afoot at the moment, and not in a good way. I've just found out that Dr C and E are colluding on my diet.

It seems that E is actually feeding me not-very-much-at-all (I could have told you that!) so the actual amount that I'm to eat isn't to be reduced at all (thanks to the cat gods). Instead, in order to lose weight (~1/2 kg), I've apparently got to have "royal canin obesity management" food mixed in with my urinary food.

What the --? OBESITY? I am NOT obese!

This is all Ellen's fault. She was the one who asked Dr C if she thought I was fat. And Ellen is the one who has clearly not been encouraging me to do enough exercise. It's her responsibility, not mine.

All this, and I've just been stuck at home alone for 24 hours as well. My life absolutely sucks.

Behaving badly at the vet

It was just getting to the point when I was sure E had forgotten about my annual vet appointment. Somewhat remarkably for me, I hadn't been subjected to the trauma in over a year, and I was quite happy to keep it that way. But no, she had to remember.

She put me in a bad mood to start with because she didn't feed me as soon as she got home. She oughta know that I require sustenance the moment she arrives. It's been all day, and I'm starving. After all, she doesn't go all day without eating.

So then she stuffs me into the cage and I know something's up. She doesn't have a suitcase, so I know we're not going to the island (thanks to the cat gods). So where then? Oh $#*&, the VET!

First up there's a stupid teeny weeny pug-faced dog yapping at me in the waiting room. That didn't help my mood. It made me grumpy and irritable.

Oh all right, it made me foul. I was absolutely the devilcat from hell.

But no self-respecting feline should ever put up with being prodded and poked and having a light shone in your eyes and jabbed with a big needle and weighed -- how humiliating!

So I growled and I hissed and I scratched and I spat and I growled and I hissed and I scratched and I spat and I . . .

Dr C will probably never talk to me again.

As punishment, she has recommended E take me to an eye specialist AND go on a diet.

#$*&%!!!

There is nothing wrong with my eyes, thank you very much, I can see perfectly well. So what if one of them has changed colour? It still works. (Seems Dr C thinks I should have something called a bilateral retinal exam.) The strange thing is that it seems to have little to do with the colour-change.

And as for the diet . . . well all I can say is that E has tried that before . . . she keeps threatening me with a diet, but never follows through. She's shown she's extremely susceptible to my 'pleading' when it comes to food.

I've got her wound around my little finger.

Bet I can make her forget about the eye doctor. Whoever heard of an animal opthamologist anyway?

PS: For once no urinary issues -- woo hoo!

Scramble for food

Ellen was home late today -- again -- but I forgave her because she came bearing food! With only a few crumbs left in my food barrel, I must admit I was getting anxious again, but thankfully she remembered my predicament.

It turns out that she rocked up at the vet to get my food, to find them in the process of locking up! Sensing doom, she begged to be allowed to purchase some food, and the very nice dog groomer let her in and searched for some freebie samples of the particular food I must eat. (Royal Canin urinary food).

When no freebie samples were to be found (at least of the cat variety), the kind dog groomer fired up the computer and allowed E to purchase a full bag. So lucky that E had cash on her, or things might have been tricky indeed!

A close shave

Of all the things I had planned to do this afternoon (sleeping), it was not to spend over two hours in my carry case being poked and prodded by a bunch of strangers.

You'd think I go to the vet enough, without being dragged there when I'm perfectly fine. It's not like it's a treat for being good, or anything. (And I have been very good of late.) And it's not like we don't have a vet at the end of the street instead of a half-hour car-ride away. Sheesh!

So I get dragged to the Animal Emergency Centre -- right in the middle of a very pleasant dream, I might add -- and first up I'm forced to say hello to some grey matron-cat called Beth. She seemed OK, not sick at all. And as I've already said, I was fine. So why were we here?

And THEN Ellen tells me that the reason we're here is to see whether I'm a blood-match for Fox, who as I already mentioned in a previous post is sick and might need a transfusion.

Oh boy. That cowed me, because Lita was there too and she looked really sad. And Beth was being brave, so I let them take me away. No way was I going to be the pathetic scardey cat -- even though my heart was pounding a mile a minute and I couldn't help growling a bit. And then I heard Ellen tell them I could be vicious, which I thought was a bit rich when I was trying so hard.

They came over to my cage and checked me out, and although I only spat and hissed a little bit -- the tiniest amount -- they backed off pretty quickly. I couldn't help feeling rather pleased at that. Maybe it's worth having a bad reputation sometimes!

So they started on Beth first, and she just let them do whatever they wanted. They prodded and poked and shaved a patch of fur off! then stuck in the biggest needle you've ever seen and drew out some blood!

Well, that tore it, because no way did I want any of that to happen to me . . . yet I had to remember that Fox is sick and Lita is Ellen's and my friend . . .

In the end, it turned out that Beth was both a good match for Fox and, being bigger than me, a better size for donating blood. This meant the vet staff (who had been giving my cage a wide berth, because I'd growl at them if they came too close) persuaded Lita and Ellen not to have me tested. Despite my thinking them pathetic scardey cats, I confess I was rather relieved. I mean, I would have done it (scratching and biting), but I'd much rather not have a shaved patch on my neck for the next few weeks, thank you very much!

So I came home unscathed (and unshaved) after all that. Poor Fox will still have his surgery and Beth will donate blood if required. I'll keep you posted as to their progress, and give thanks to the cat gods for my deliverance.

Still got short whiskers

The vet newsletter today was about feline obesity. I'm really worried Ellen is going to put me on a diet again. I saw her looking closely at my whiskers to see if they'd grown longer. As you probably know, my whiskers are exactly as wide as me. You'd think I would know if they'd grown longer and I can tell you they haven't! It's bad enough having to eat the bladder-friendly food, without being on a diet.

From bad to worse

I did it again. No sooner had we posted the previous entry on Thursday evening, than I did it again. Weed on the rug. Ellen has never sworn at me as she did that night.

I felt awful.

I truly did feel awful . . . there was blood in my urine and it was painful. I half expected to be whisked off to the vet the next day -- that's the usual pattern. But for once I was saved the trauma. Friday passed uncomfortably, but uneventfully . . .

This morning I weed on the floor at the foot of Ellen's bed (and I think her runners might have been in the way). I couldn't help it. I just felt so awful and Ellen needed to know how bad I felt. That's why I did it somewhere obvious.

She seemed to take it better this morning. Cleaned it up then got on the phone and went out for the morning. I thought I was safe. But then she suddenly came home and got the carry cage down and then we were at the vet!

Damn and blast, I HATE going to the vet. We saw Dr Jenny today. I've seen her a few times in the past when I've had bladder problems. (For some reason I seem to get this all the time.) They talked about me as though I wasn't even in the room. Dr Jenny seemed to think it could be stress related. Ellen wondered whether it was because she kept leaving me home alone all the time (yeah - I hope she goes on believing that) and Dr Jenny wondered whether it was due to my battles with the invaders up and down the driveway. She's cluey that Dr Jenny. She noticed the slight wound on my nose where ginger must have landed a swipe, and drew her own conclusions. (However, my battles make me feel exhilarated, not stressful. Go figure.)

Then she jabbed me with a needle THREE TIMES. It turns out I was duped into having vaccinations as well. When we got home, Ellen made me take a pill.

I have spent the rest of the day in quiet contemplation. Going to the vet really takes it out of you!

Now it turns out I have to have special food to try to prevent my urinary tract infection from happening again. I confess I too would be pleased if we could rid me of this weakness. The new food tastes OK. And it should be nice to have something different for a change. I wonder how it'll fit in with my so-called diet?