Bathsheba's Kill and Jake's Trip to the Vet

Hey, Tripper, you called me "old" at the big birthday party yesterday; I'd look up your exact words, but Mom is too cheap to pay Chatzy $9 for the full transcript. Yeah, I know that at nearly 16, I'm getting up there, but while I like my naps and relaxation, I still have tortitude and I have a killer instinct.

After the party, I decided I needed to kill something, so I went outside and this vole made the mistake of crossing my path. I don't think that big ol' Trip will be bunny-kicking ME.

~Bathsheba

And Tripper, that Psycho Cat, called me a WEENIE just because I was drinking plain water at the party. I'd had an upset stomach, and I didn't want to drink anything that might make me barf at the party. My mom taught me some manners--no barfing at other people's houses.

Anyway, I was feeling way better by last night, and I was back to myself again this morning-hungry! I won't admit to foraging in the compost pile the other day, but I must say that the smell of cantaloupe drives me wild. But not like catnip wild! Who says it was that, anyway? It could have been something from a nasty neighbor's house.

Even though I was feeling perfectly well, Mom rudely put me in my PTU tonight and whisked me off to the vet in her car.

You can plainly see that I was not too happy about this trip. Mom apparently made this appointment months ago.

Here I am in the waiting room. This photo looks suspiciously like one from a blog post in January.

And here I am in the examining room being weighed. I gained about an ounce since last January. Mom measures my food so I don't have a chance to gain weight unless I check what's available around the neighborhood.

One of the next things they did was take my blood. I know that Bathsheba and Rocky always take their blood, but I had to donate some of mine. First they poked me in one leg and couldn't get enough--they said I have tiny veins--then they poked me in the other leg and got a big enough sample. I was stoic and didn't cry. I'm glad that Mom petted me the whole time instead of taking pictures.

The tech tried to get a poop sample by sticking this thing up my poop hole, but I said enough was enough and protested that indignity! Instead, they gave Mom a little plastic container for a sample. Good luck! I like to do my business in the privacy of the woods.

The doctor gave me some shots, and I didn't even flinch as Mom stroked my fur. They ran some tests, and the doc said that my thyroid levels are high (6.5 when normal is 1.5-4.5), but that I looked good otherwise. Unlike another vet that we saw before, this one said that the hair loss on my tummy was caused by stress. Mom told him that another vet said that was one of the symptoms of my hyperthyroidism, but this one said no. Sometimes Mom gets so exasperated by all the different vets' conflicting perspectives. This vet wanted to up my medication dosage, but because I had been off my meds or a day and a half, he decided he'd keep it the same and retest me in a month. Ugh--another blood donation coming up. Mom is reluctant to have my dosage increased because I became lethargic when it was upped before. She thinks I nap enough as it is.

I know that this was a lot to read, but I AM a cat and the center of the universe (at least our universe here in this house). Our 200th post contest is ongoing, everyone. Sorry, Skeezix, but July 2 was NOT it. If you manage to wade through this post, then keep those comments coming and you may win yet!

~Jake