Inside This Mind.

09.20.2006 * 6:09 p.m.
My poor Chuck...

I have a fat cat. (I also have a healthy-sized cat, but this story is not about her.)

Charlie, the fat cat, is a mellow tabby with yellow-green eyes and a purr that rattles the walls. I adore her sweet little face, the way she snuggles against my feet when we sleep at night, and her enthusiasm for drinking out of the bathroom faucet. She is usually a quiet cat, but her scratchy little voice has filled the house the past two mornings. Her cries were demanding attention and it turns out that she's been yelling, "I feel icky inside! Something is wrong with my bladder!" No, I did not become fluent in feline overnight. (Though I wish I had, that would be SWEET!) I discovered the meaning of Charlie's complaints when I discovered blood in her urine.

Super-me, part-time veterinary technician came to the rescue and got an appointment at the vet's. We drew urine to send to the lab and filled a prescription of antibiotics to fight any urinary tract infection. The ultrasound and x-ray reveal stones in her bladder, so I bought a special type of food that will (hopefully) dissolve those. Thank goodness I get a discount as an employee or I'd never be able to afford pet care.

Now I just have to slowly switch Charles over to her new diet and shove a pill down her throat twice a day. I think it will be great. I just hope the food does dissolve the stones because I'm pretty sure I cannot afford surgery. Gah.

I love my babies.