
Ever since my calico cat, Velcro, had her breast cancer surgery, I’ve been giving her a daily antibiotic pill. The first pills we had for her were small and not too difficult to get her to swallow. Unfortunately, they also made her lethargic and twitchy, so the vet switched her to a much larger tablet that’s about the size of a flattened pea.
Today was the eighth pill of ten and, frankly, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get the last two down her gullet. Every day, the pill-administering ordeal gets worse and worse. This is measured by the number of times I have to retrieve the pill from the floor, catch the cat, and feel the pain of teeth and claws digging into tender portions of my anatomy.
By the time I got her to swallow today’s pill, Velcro was thrashing around and actually foaming at the mouth. The pill had been spit out so many times that it was half dissolved. Heck, I can’t even be completely sure that she really swallowed it, given that it probably was in no condition to make a sound even if it had hit the floor.
Somehow I drew the short straw to take her to the vet tomorrow morning for the removal of her belly staples. Amazingly enough, she’s pretty much left them alone enough to let the incision heal.
As un-fun as that whole episode might be, I’m planning on creating my own silver lining by taking the second-to-last pill with me for the vet to administer. Heck, as long as Velcro is all pissed off anyway, what’s one more poke of the hornets’ nest?
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