For the past 13.5 years I have been known to Family, Friends, and total strangers as "Bandits 'Mom'." Or on occasion, "The girl with 'That Dog'." With his life beginning to wind down, I've already started to realize I will miss the loss of that identity when Bandit passes (hopefully in the very distant future).
Feeling rather "pity-ful" I bemoaned the fact that there will never be another Bandit. As I sunk lower into the murky depths of dispair, I realized very few people remember I'm Moggy's Mama. And
no one knows MY name. And....well, you get the picture--I self indulgently engaged in a full blown Pity Party.
So I loved it when, during Bandits follow up visit two weeks ago, one of the Vet Techs came over and asked if the dog with me was Bandit. My pleasure soon turned to absolute giddiness when she addressed Bandit, saying "And your brother is Moggy." Even if I would no longer be known as "Bandits Mom" after he passes, there was a possibility that I would at least be known as Moggy's Mom--at least occassionally.
And then the horror set in when she said these words, "I remember your brother from when you guys boarded here."
Y'all, that was six months ago. People don't remember a fairly common looking DSH (Domestic Short Hair cat) half a year later--at least not for good reasons.
You see, my sweet little street-savy rescue, who adittedly plays too rough with Bandit...and gets his paws into every neighborhood cat-fight...and maybe even starts a few fights....and teases the dogs next (although I'm releaved to notice he no longer takes short cuts through their yards--at least not when they are outside), turns around and crawls on to my chest, head butts my chin, and purrs sweetly in my ear--is really a h@$$cat when I'm not around.
I have only heard him hiss twice. The first time was on our Seattle trip this past March. I excused the hissy-fit because Moggy was scared of the condo maintenance men and there had been a storm the night before, so he wasn't well rested. I too have been known to be a little hissy when I'm sleep deprived.
The second time he hissed at a person, I "couldn't be sure" the caterwalling was coming from Moggy since he was in another exam room--but since he was the only cat in the vet waiting room earlier, I had my suspicions...
Come to think of it, I really have known all along--I've just been in denial. You see Dr. C has been forced to call me on two different occasions to tell me about his bad behavior during attempted exams or treatments. In fact, I was present during the most recent exam.
Dr. C had to dismantle the cat carrier, wear protective garments, put a towel over Moggy's head, while the Vet Tech kept his body pretty much squashed with a padded board--and they still were not able to obtain all of the tests she needed, or get the medicine in his mouth. We ended up going with a long-lasting injection.
I wish they could be a fly on my guest bathroom wall and watch as I administer his liquid meds. He's much better behaving for me--in fact, he no longer clamps down on my finger I use to pry open his mouth, and he's yet to shake his head slinging medications everywhere--one of my former cats did that--it was as foul as a slobbering Saint Benard shaking his head (I love the breed--just not the slobber).
Moggy and I've got a nice routine: he jumps onto the vanity and takes a bite or two of his food while I draw up an oral syringe of his medicine. Watching our reflections in the mirror while I stand behind him, I slip the syringe into the corner of his mouth. After I depress the plunger, I rub his throat to stimulate the swallow reflex. He quietly looks at my reflection in the mirror, probably plotting my demise, and grabs another bite of food, as I draw up the next syringe. Easy peasy. I follow each med with a syringe of water since cats are notorious for not drinking enough fresh water, and some of his meds are not very tasty. I don't know this from experience--the Vet told me one med is rather foul tasting. The other med is actually touted as having a fowl taste cats like. (Yes I went with the pun.)
Getting Moggy to take pills are a different story as the scars on my hands and chest can attest. I have found nothing acceptable. Therefore, the Vet and I have decided to use liquid forms of medications, either injectables or orally, whenever possible. Now I just have to convince them I should always be the one to hold his towel encased body for exams and treatments.
Maybe I should go to Vet Tech School in my retirement. I could pick up some extra cash, maybe get an employee discount, and avoid my FurMom Identity devolving from "Bandit's Mom" into "That Darn Cat's Mom."
