The Cat is home after today’s oral surgery. The mouth thing that later became a broken tooth was diagnosed as a traumatically-avulsed canine, which I find weird because I don’t think we should be referring to cat teeth as canines. But anyway. The one canine turned into two, which turned into eight teeth altogether. I guess the tooth broke of The Cat’s own power during the chicken incident, but it had likely been made weaker in the first place due to his age. He’s only 11 (only 11), but according to the vet’s office, older cats get receding gums, and this can cause exposed roots and weak sockets. So after the initial visit, bloodwork, X-rays, and anesthesia, all eight problem teeth came out and now I own a semi-toothed cat.
The saddest part is that both top canines are gone, which seems to me like a removal of The Cat’s manhood (after his neutering, I mean, but I’ve only known him neutered so I can’t tell you what he was like as a tom). It’s also sad that he’s wobbling around the house bombed on Fentanyl, and that this will continue until Tuesday when the patch is removed. Since sick cats don’t usually eat, drink, or want to be touched, my main priority tonight is to watch for those things. I was worried that the stitches on the top and bottom of his mouth would keep him from doing anything but yowling on the floor, but so far, he practically flew out of the carrier, immediately went for some pets, showed major determination in getting to his food bowl (hidden, as he can’t eat dry food yet), and was not only aggressive in eating the small amount of wet food I gave him, but was obviously irritated that I didn’t give him more. Pain medication messes with their stomachs, so it’s best to give little amounts over a longer period of time. If he doesn’t barf in the next hour and a half, I’ll feed him a little more.
He’s high as fuck, but he knows where he is and already responds to my voice:
The whole ordeal has been crazy expensive but I can’t really complain; in the ten years since I got him, his only other veterinary episode involved a mild respiratory infection. He has been a relatively cheap cat to live with, and aside from the teeth, is still pretty healthy for an animal in his twilight years. Also, I don’t understand the kind of person who would euthanize an animal for something like teeth after living with it for ten years. Ten years! If you’re willing to make the commitment to care for an animal for that long, then I assume you’re responsible enough to save some money along the way. I’m not saying that everything should be done no matter what. For instance, if The Cat is diagnosed with feline leukemia, I’m sorry, but I am not paying for chemo. Same with dialysis. If it doesn’t improve their quality of life and isn’t a cure, I don’t think it’s necessary or that anyone who declines it should be frowned upon.
The point is that everyone who told me they wouldn’t pay what I paid for The Cat’s procedure is an asshole, and anyone who would have fit him with prosthetic teeth is a lunatic.
My only regret is not asking for a Cone of Shame, because The Cat keeps worrying at the vet tape around his Fentanyl patch, and I don’t need him licking at it and getting more opiates than his body is absorbing on its own. So for the next 16 hours or so, my time will be spent keeping the cats apart, trying to make sure The Cat doesn’t overdose like Linda from Intervention, and sleeping. Because it’s been a really long day, and the vet’s office is closed, and the Cone of Shame will have to wait until tomorrow.
Lastly, to anyone who’s tired of my blogging about my cat, I have two things to say to you. First, suck my dick. Second, I’m kind of tired of blogging about my cat, too, and will be back on the cursing and pop culture garbage tomorrow.
(Title stolen from Justin, who made a pretty amazing puppet movie about it.)