Finding the Humor

It's been a bad couple of days, but they haven't been completely devoid of humour. I've always gotten a good deal of entertainment out of living with my cat, and even in illness that hasn't changed. Despite her small frame and three pounds of weight loss, she can still put up one hell of a fight, as evidenced by the way the veterinary assistant presented me with my sweet fuzzball yesterday morning. Alan, the VA, had her completely wrapped up in a towel. Only her big, bright eyes were visible. And he was carrying her as far away from his body as he could with hands that were safely covered by kevlar gloves. Kevlar! Apparently, Victoria let them know what she really thought of them after I left! I may not like the scars she leaves on me or my guests, but I secretly enjoy the fiestiness she possesses. I know she won't take any shit from anybody and I love that. Now, if I could just get her to understand that most people aren't actually trying to give her shit. Then, maybe she might stop attacking innocent dinner guests.

However, the true entertainment (and I use that term lightly in this case) began after I got home, or rather when I tried to give her the first dose of antibiotic. That’s when she really started fighting. She must have sensed how unsure I was about doing this. It had been roughly seven years since I had had to cram anything down her throat. I remembered how I was taught to do it: console the kitty; wrap her under your arm; squeeze the sides of her head; when she opens her mouth, push the plunger into it; and finally repeat consoling kitty. Simple, huh? Well, I think perhaps she took the online course of kitty kung fu because for whatever position a put her in, she managed to wriggle free. I tried putting her on my lap in the bathroom. I tried comforting her on the couch and then pinning her there. I tried scooping her up in a baby position and feeding it to her like a bottle. All the while I’m trying to pry her jaws open, I’m also trying to calmly tell her through gritted teeth that “it’s OK sweetie, you just have to open your mouth” because reasoning with a cat when you’ve got a stranglehold on her is really going to work folks. I finally plopped her down on the living room floor, sat on her hind quarters, pinned her front half down with one hand, and pried her jaws open with the other, while a third hand belonging to my dear friend squirted the liquid into her mouth. I can definitely see the humor in a grown woman failing to pin a seven pound cat. Clearly, I won't be taking to the mud wrestling circuit anytime soon.