I wrote about taking care of a geriatric cat when Jerry got sick. But this is a little different because Smokey's not dying, he's just really effing old. So, he had five teeth pulled. Five. Five cavities causing pain. Can you imagine that? Animals are so stoic. I'm vocal and irritable when I have a mild headache or if it's too hot. Smokey is such a trooper. Though it explains all the late night caterwauling.
So out they went to the tune of $1400. Oh yes. So now I have a line of credit. I never needed one before. Now I do, for a cat. I really didn't have a choice. I could have let him suffer or I could have had him put down or I could take care of the problem and let him live a continuing quality life. But still. Ouch.
Anyone ever seen a cat with chipmunk cheeks? 'Cause that's what Smokey's got on one side. It'd be adorable if it wasn't so pathetic and sad looking.
So I still give him his two insulin shots a day, plus now I have to give him wet food (so no more relying on the automatic feeder), two doses of codeine cream a day, and two antibiotics a day. Good grief. Love, man. I love that damn cat.
He's been sleeping a lot, recuperating and generally making himself scarce. I think because he feels weak and doesn't want us seeing him like that. Some animals tend to get weird about showing weakness. Unfortunately, this means a mouse that has been mainly living downstairs has grown large enough cajones to make himself at home up here. Our little sentry is compromised and this damn mouse took advantage of it.
In other May news, our place has central air, but the downstairs neighbour's apartment is cool and they don't need it. Up here it's like the inside of a hot air balloon. We have ceiling fans going, plus two more in whatever room we're in. It's still not enough. I'd buy a portable air conditioner if I wasn't paying off Smokey's vet bill.
Being a grownup sucks.