The night after Colby's visit to the new vet, I went ahead and did another round of Tresaderm, since it was late (per usual) and I was supposed to do it twice a day anyway, and I figured this way we could get one more of the fourteen doses out of the way.
I got out a new treat bag of some different treats (they've had these before, but they aren't the "cutting mats out of your hair" treats or the "trimming your claws" treats). I held out the bag, and the Tresaderm bottle, and asked Colby where he'd like to have his ears treated.
He was on the round Pooh table in the living room, waiting for the wand toy games to start. This was the vet tech's idea; do it right before the wand toy play and hopefully the others will be occupied enough with the playtime not to try to wash Colby's ears "clean," in case they (meaning Thimble) were so inclined.
He stayed there and let me put Tresaderm in both ears. He was not a happy cat and let me know that. The minute I was done he jumped off and went away a few feet and sat there shaking his head and glaring at me. I tossed a treat to him and grabbed Thimble before he could cherry-pick the treat away from an undecided Colby.
Reject the treat and really show her I'm mad and uncomfortable and didn't like what she just did? Or eat the treat and get something nice and tasty out of this whole thing? Colby decided to eat the treat. He was quite pleased when this resulted in him getting another (and me having to grab another dodge pass by Thimble). I don't see why they get the logic confused. Four paws get clipped, four treats. Two ears, two treats. They can count. (Yes, they can, albeit not very high; they just don't seem to think that they should get more than one treat for a reward.)
Well, Colby decided it was okay, and let me pet him, and Thimble came over in case there was some treat left, and there wasn't, but Colby smelled funny, and Thimble then had to give his ears a good sniff.
I needn't have worried about Thimble deciding to wash Colby's ears clean. Thimble was having none of that. He backed away a few inches, with a look of, "I love you, buddy, but no, you can clean those yourself. That smells like it would taste terrible."
And Colby gave him a rolled-eye glare, like "I never asked you to wash them in the first place. Oh, hi, Apricot."
Apricot walked up cautiously. He knew that smell. He knew he knew that smell. It was faint, and almost non-existent, but he was very suspicious about that smell. Colby bent his head a little so Apricot could reach.
Apricot sniffed Colby's ears.
Apricot's own ears went back, not pinned to his head but close, and he bolted across the entire length of the living room (which you'll recall is four rooms that were turned into one, so it's big). From the other side, well out of reach, he glared pointedly at me.
"Oh no, you ain't getting me, no way no how!"
I find it fascinating that they always know who to blame. And they're usually right.
I reassured him that I wasn't going to give him any. He wasn't going around shaking his ears and scratching till they bled, now was he? (No. Colby had scratched his left ear so bad the delicate skin in front of it had bled. I felt horrible on realizing that when we'd been at the vet.)
I told Apricot he was perfectly safe, that even if his ears did get infected I'd insist on something systemic, a pill that he could take and wouldn't bother his ears. I promised.
Apricot listened, more or less skeptically, from the other side of the room, his eyes never leaving me. I was down on the floor with Colby and Thimble, and when Apricot started looking a little less wide-eyed and betrayed, I held out my hand at petting height and slow blinked at him, all the while reassuring him he was safe.
He held out for a few seconds more, and then sighed a little, and came trotting over and petted himself on my hand (which "activated" and took part in the petting as soon as he rubbed against it), and was much relieved that I'd taken the time to reassure him.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Colby Visits a New Kitty Doctor
Colby wasn't particularly happy to be riding in the car again, especially by himself in the kangaroo pouch in my lap. Since I haven't really taken the boys lots of places, I still revert to thinking I have Pippin, and the pouch was his favorite way to travel. Colby would have preferred the crate. I shall have to remember that.
But he only really made a few comments during the drive. It was just that said comments were made into my ear as he was resting his paws on my shoulder. Yes, it will be safer for him in the crate as well, I do realize that.
I pulled into the parking lot of the new vet. I had wanted to interview a couple vets, see how I liked them, before having to bring the cat(s) with me, but Colby's ear twitching, scratching, and head shaking had made me move up my timetable.
This vet's office was in an office building with all the entrances to the outside, like a strip mall for offices. Inside was a nice, cozy, small waiting room which implied that (a) you wouldn't be waiting long since they didn't have room for a lot of people in it, and (b) it wasn't going to echo and drive me crazy with the sound sensory input like the old vet's office. I was instantly leaning toward "yes" for keeping this vet.
Colby didn't verbalize anything but he really wanted to leave, and wasn't staying curled up in the pouch. This meant, of course, that everyone could see his true size and they were all amazed. 'He's beautiful,' were some comments I got, as well as the more usual, 'he's huge.'
They took me back into a room almost right away (I didn't even have a chance to sit down) and there we waited for just a short while. Colby decided to go find a better hiding place than the pouch, and I let him. The room had a large window with a window seat in front of it; two vinyl chairs, the sort that look padded and sort of are; a cabinet and counter in the corner; and an exam table that folded down to give extra room when it wasn't needed.
Colby launched onto the counter. It barely had enough room for him with the row of containers on one side ("treats", "dog treats", "hypoallergenic treats", and "q-tips"). He knocked over a small unlabeled container onto the floor that turned out to have liquid in it, but it must not have been much because I didn't see it.
The vet tech came in shortly after Colby jumped down and I pointed out the fallen container and apologized for it--I said I wouldn't have let him jump up there if I'd realized it didn't have a lid. She said no problem and wiped up the liquid off the floor with paper towels. Several paper towels. Oops.
I asked her how they felt about breed cats there. Apparently, they love them. There's a local Maine Coon breeder who uses them as her vet. (I didn't know there was a local breeder at all. Perhaps the breeder is from the TICA side of the show cat world, and I wasn't looking there when I was looking for breeders as I prefer the CFA look to the Maine Coons. And she could also have started breeding in just the two years, as well.)
This is good. I felt the old vet had been searching to find something, anything, wrong with Colby or Thimble to prove that all breeders were bad and we should all be rescuing cats. (As Max proves, a rescue isn't always going to work out for me, given my situation. As Apricot proves, sometimes a rescue can be wonderful.)
I also asked what they would say when I brought the three in for their yearly exams and shots and told them Apricot wasn't getting any of the vaccines including rabies. She said they'd ask why (I told her) and that they'd advise me of the rabies being state law, but I could refuse it, and then if Apricot bit someone that would come back on me, not the vet.
She was a bit surprised I think when I was emphatically enthusiastic about her response. Because that was the other reason I didn't like our old vet anymore. When I'd told her Apricot wasn't getting any shots, last december, their response had been "okay."
Um, no. You respect my wishes, sure, because in the end I'm paying the bills, but you make very sure I understand the implications of said wishes before you let me make the final decision.
The vet tech took a q-tip and swabbed out some of the nasty black crap in Colby's ears, one tip per ear, and then broke the handle to the q-tip used for the left ear. Neat way to label them. I've seen vets do that before but I always forget about it until I see it done again.
She took the swabs away to look at them under a microscope, and we were alone again for a little while. So I got down on the floor with Colby.
He came over and got a hug and petted and told he was a brave cat, and then he went off exploring again. He was still searching for a place to hide, but there was a hint of sheer exploration in his movements, too, showing he was getting more comfortable.
When the vet came in, she talked for a little while too. About Colby, and his kitty friends, and how he was doing, and why I was changing vets ... general stuff. And Colby went over to her and rubbed her hands and let her pet him and scratch behind his ears, and then came back to me where I'd settled on the window seat.
I made much of him and said he was a brave kitty and all that, meanwhile mouthing at the vet "that was unusual!" He's never done that before, just let a stranger pet him so quickly after meeting her.
She examined him all over then, "officially", although when she'd been scratching his ears she'd been looking at them with sharp eyes, too. The vet tech came back in and said he had cocci + bacteria in the left ear too numerous to count, and the same in the right ear with a hint of yeast as well.
I had asked if Colby could have "caught" the ear infection from Apricot, who always has a low-level yeast infection in his ears. (I couldn't get rid of it with the Tresaderm and he hated it so badly that I'd quit giving it to him.) To my relief, the chances of that happening were almost nil.
Then she listened to his heart. I told her about the other vet saying he had a quiet heart murmur and that "quiet" wasn't even a heart murmur description. She said that it was, sort of. Heart murmurs come in grades, 1-6, and a grade 1/6 heart murmur was much quieter than the roar of a grade 6/6. But the other vet hadn't even mentioned grades, much less told me what grade she thought it was.
Colby was being difficult. I said, diffidently, that if they'd let him come up over my shoulder with his front paws he'd stop moving around so much, as that was what he wanted. So that's what we did. Sure enough, as soon as he could get his head against mine and his paws wrapped around my shoulder, he calmed down, and if I angled my body away from his a little, the vet could get the stethoscope in the gap.
She listened for a long time. Finally she said that she didn't hear a heart murmur at all. So, I thought to myself, either the other vet was making herself hear something for the goal of finding "something" wrong with Colby, or he grew out of it. Ginger later said (when I texted her the result), that he probably grew out of it. Developmental heart murmurs are common because not all the bits of a cat grow at the same rate, including heart bits.
They gave me Tresaderm for Colby's ears. Oh joy, oh rapture. Another session of ear doping. Maybe Colby would be more willing than Apricot?
I got the vet tech to show me how to do it. This time I didn't have three-quarters of my brain going nuts from anxiety, and I was able to process the visual information much better. She did one ear, and I did the other, and it was a lot easier than Apricot. Partly, though, this is due to the much bigger ear!
I like this vet's office, and I like this vet. I think we'll be going here from now on.
But he only really made a few comments during the drive. It was just that said comments were made into my ear as he was resting his paws on my shoulder. Yes, it will be safer for him in the crate as well, I do realize that.
I pulled into the parking lot of the new vet. I had wanted to interview a couple vets, see how I liked them, before having to bring the cat(s) with me, but Colby's ear twitching, scratching, and head shaking had made me move up my timetable.
This vet's office was in an office building with all the entrances to the outside, like a strip mall for offices. Inside was a nice, cozy, small waiting room which implied that (a) you wouldn't be waiting long since they didn't have room for a lot of people in it, and (b) it wasn't going to echo and drive me crazy with the sound sensory input like the old vet's office. I was instantly leaning toward "yes" for keeping this vet.
Colby didn't verbalize anything but he really wanted to leave, and wasn't staying curled up in the pouch. This meant, of course, that everyone could see his true size and they were all amazed. 'He's beautiful,' were some comments I got, as well as the more usual, 'he's huge.'
They took me back into a room almost right away (I didn't even have a chance to sit down) and there we waited for just a short while. Colby decided to go find a better hiding place than the pouch, and I let him. The room had a large window with a window seat in front of it; two vinyl chairs, the sort that look padded and sort of are; a cabinet and counter in the corner; and an exam table that folded down to give extra room when it wasn't needed.
 |
| Colby investigates the counter |
Colby launched onto the counter. It barely had enough room for him with the row of containers on one side ("treats", "dog treats", "hypoallergenic treats", and "q-tips"). He knocked over a small unlabeled container onto the floor that turned out to have liquid in it, but it must not have been much because I didn't see it.
The vet tech came in shortly after Colby jumped down and I pointed out the fallen container and apologized for it--I said I wouldn't have let him jump up there if I'd realized it didn't have a lid. She said no problem and wiped up the liquid off the floor with paper towels. Several paper towels. Oops.
I asked her how they felt about breed cats there. Apparently, they love them. There's a local Maine Coon breeder who uses them as her vet. (I didn't know there was a local breeder at all. Perhaps the breeder is from the TICA side of the show cat world, and I wasn't looking there when I was looking for breeders as I prefer the CFA look to the Maine Coons. And she could also have started breeding in just the two years, as well.)
This is good. I felt the old vet had been searching to find something, anything, wrong with Colby or Thimble to prove that all breeders were bad and we should all be rescuing cats. (As Max proves, a rescue isn't always going to work out for me, given my situation. As Apricot proves, sometimes a rescue can be wonderful.)
I also asked what they would say when I brought the three in for their yearly exams and shots and told them Apricot wasn't getting any of the vaccines including rabies. She said they'd ask why (I told her) and that they'd advise me of the rabies being state law, but I could refuse it, and then if Apricot bit someone that would come back on me, not the vet.
She was a bit surprised I think when I was emphatically enthusiastic about her response. Because that was the other reason I didn't like our old vet anymore. When I'd told her Apricot wasn't getting any shots, last december, their response had been "okay."
Um, no. You respect my wishes, sure, because in the end I'm paying the bills, but you make very sure I understand the implications of said wishes before you let me make the final decision.
The vet tech took a q-tip and swabbed out some of the nasty black crap in Colby's ears, one tip per ear, and then broke the handle to the q-tip used for the left ear. Neat way to label them. I've seen vets do that before but I always forget about it until I see it done again.
She took the swabs away to look at them under a microscope, and we were alone again for a little while. So I got down on the floor with Colby.
He came over and got a hug and petted and told he was a brave cat, and then he went off exploring again. He was still searching for a place to hide, but there was a hint of sheer exploration in his movements, too, showing he was getting more comfortable.
When the vet came in, she talked for a little while too. About Colby, and his kitty friends, and how he was doing, and why I was changing vets ... general stuff. And Colby went over to her and rubbed her hands and let her pet him and scratch behind his ears, and then came back to me where I'd settled on the window seat.
 |
| Colby on the window seat |
I made much of him and said he was a brave kitty and all that, meanwhile mouthing at the vet "that was unusual!" He's never done that before, just let a stranger pet him so quickly after meeting her.
She examined him all over then, "officially", although when she'd been scratching his ears she'd been looking at them with sharp eyes, too. The vet tech came back in and said he had cocci + bacteria in the left ear too numerous to count, and the same in the right ear with a hint of yeast as well.
I had asked if Colby could have "caught" the ear infection from Apricot, who always has a low-level yeast infection in his ears. (I couldn't get rid of it with the Tresaderm and he hated it so badly that I'd quit giving it to him.) To my relief, the chances of that happening were almost nil.
Then she listened to his heart. I told her about the other vet saying he had a quiet heart murmur and that "quiet" wasn't even a heart murmur description. She said that it was, sort of. Heart murmurs come in grades, 1-6, and a grade 1/6 heart murmur was much quieter than the roar of a grade 6/6. But the other vet hadn't even mentioned grades, much less told me what grade she thought it was.
Colby was being difficult. I said, diffidently, that if they'd let him come up over my shoulder with his front paws he'd stop moving around so much, as that was what he wanted. So that's what we did. Sure enough, as soon as he could get his head against mine and his paws wrapped around my shoulder, he calmed down, and if I angled my body away from his a little, the vet could get the stethoscope in the gap.
She listened for a long time. Finally she said that she didn't hear a heart murmur at all. So, I thought to myself, either the other vet was making herself hear something for the goal of finding "something" wrong with Colby, or he grew out of it. Ginger later said (when I texted her the result), that he probably grew out of it. Developmental heart murmurs are common because not all the bits of a cat grow at the same rate, including heart bits.
They gave me Tresaderm for Colby's ears. Oh joy, oh rapture. Another session of ear doping. Maybe Colby would be more willing than Apricot?
I got the vet tech to show me how to do it. This time I didn't have three-quarters of my brain going nuts from anxiety, and I was able to process the visual information much better. She did one ear, and I did the other, and it was a lot easier than Apricot. Partly, though, this is due to the much bigger ear!
I like this vet's office, and I like this vet. I think we'll be going here from now on.
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Kids These Days
Last night I was chatting to my mom on the phone while playing wand toy with the cats and not really focusing on the wand toy part of it.
I got around to a complaint about the new kid hired straight out of college who'd made a basic chemistry error (the kind they should have taught you about in college) and my general exasperation with people coming into the lab with no experience.
In this complaint, I voiced the exasperated "Kids these days!" comment that everyone over a certain age says and everyone under a certain age is annoyed by. (I felt sure I was in the latter category but apparently not).
Colby was about ten feet away from me. He looked back over his shoulder (he'd been chasing the toy) and said, in a very indignant and protesting voice, "meow!" Mom even heard him through the phone which was not on speaker.
I said, "not you guys, Colby," and he gave a huff with his shoulders and focused back on the toy.
It occurred to me then that I do call them my kids. Just usually when I'm talking about them, not to them. So I didn't know that they understood that word could mean them!
The hazards of teaching your cats to understand English...
I got around to a complaint about the new kid hired straight out of college who'd made a basic chemistry error (the kind they should have taught you about in college) and my general exasperation with people coming into the lab with no experience.
In this complaint, I voiced the exasperated "Kids these days!" comment that everyone over a certain age says and everyone under a certain age is annoyed by. (I felt sure I was in the latter category but apparently not).
Colby was about ten feet away from me. He looked back over his shoulder (he'd been chasing the toy) and said, in a very indignant and protesting voice, "meow!" Mom even heard him through the phone which was not on speaker.
I said, "not you guys, Colby," and he gave a huff with his shoulders and focused back on the toy.
It occurred to me then that I do call them my kids. Just usually when I'm talking about them, not to them. So I didn't know that they understood that word could mean them!
The hazards of teaching your cats to understand English...
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