My review of the Jensen experience is forthcoming. It was disappointing, to say the very least, and one of those youthful experiences in which you slay your own idols with swords and flame.
My travelmates and I didn’t stay in Yellow Springs as originally planned. The town is the size of my toenail: an adorable town with a charming shopping district, but without a bar open past 11pm and no visible hotel accommodations. After the talk, we stopped for food and got back into the car. I was in an iffy mood when I got home, still fuming over the Jensen talk and wanting back out of the house so my Friday night wouldn’t be a total waste. When I walked in the door, I noticed that Pablo had thrown up.
This isn’t unusual. Pablo usually has his Saturday hairball. No matter the hairball formula foods I feed him, no matter the other hairball accommodations I have made, no matter the nightly brushing sessions, Pablo hacks something up every Saturday like clockwork. I figured he was early this time.
Since I got Pablo I have found that he has several very odd behaviors, the first being this hairball thing, and the second being his fear of dogs. When I got Pablo from the pound, they had no previous information on him. It was obvious he had been a housecat, well taken care of, and socialized properly. Unfortunately he was declawed in the front, had fleas, and apparently caught a parasite in the shelter. I did the expected and treated what I could and ever since have had a very healthy, lovable cat.
Nonetheless, I went back out Friday night after cleaning up P-Lo’s mess. I collapsed in bed when I got home, had a decent night of sleep, and woke up that morning to make myself some tea. And I stepped in cat puke. I grumbled to myself, went back to the bathroom and washed my foot, and headed back into the kitchen. On the way, I passed two more piles of puke. There was another in the kitchen and two more in the den. Pablo seemed as though he was in a good mood, so I filled his dish as usual, not thinking in my morning stupor. He ate a few bites and immediately threw up again. My first thought was that he had finally eaten the wrong plant or a bit of yarn. I called the emergency vet clinic and got us in there ASAP.
Pablo, like most cats, doesn’t much like the cat carrier. He lays in the carrier in the backseat mournfully lowing like a cow as though I’m taking his furry ass back to the pound. To make matters worse, there was a dog in the waiting room, a harmless geriatric spaniel in for glaucoma and a tumor.
The stress of a car ride, the cat carrier, and the unexpected presence of dogs in the waiting room got another kind of strange reaction from Pablo, one that should be written in Sharpie on the list above: when Pablo sees a dog he loses all control of his bowels.
After a long wait we got into the exam room. I took Pablo out of the carrier and the tech, the cat and I were immediately covered in cat shit. But Pablo hadn’t stopped. He continued to shit all over me and the tech. Everywhere. It smelled so bad that I had to step into the hallway to pace around in fresh air. Pablo lowed inside the examination room, insulted that I had left him and embarassed that he had crapped all over himself and the cat carrier.
If there was a good side to this story, kind of, it is finding out that the routine worming Pablo got didn’t do a thing. Not only does he have tapeworm, but the parasite that he had when I got him from the pound never went away. They are doing more blood work and poo work to find causes and solutions to this mess, and in the meantime, as soon as anything hits Pablo’s stomach he vomits. I can’t feed him until tomorrow afternoon.
He continues to behave as though he is in a good mood (at least after recovering from his bath) and is active, cheerful, and healthy-looking, which makes me think about the $90 I spent on P-Lo’s bill today, the potential of having to pay for an X-ray if he did ingest something, and how all my money saving efforts from this month were effectively flushed down the tubes.
Pablo had better be glad I love him so damn much. He has been awfully affectionate since his bath. He lay in my lap all evening and, in lieu of purring, snorted like a pig.
Of course it could be his raging, unfulfilled appetite.