About a month ago, Hank told us he was sick the best way he could. He pissed on our tiled surfaces - the front entrance, the main bathroom, the bathroom with his litter box (though he convienently pulled out some litter and covered it on top of the tile).
Sure enough, the, uh, deposits he left varied between pink and blood red.
I don't want to speak for my wife, but I'm fairly certain we're in agreement on this: We love Hank. We really want him around for as long as he can be. Often, I find myself sitting on the recliner; Hank will jump up and plop himself into an open crevice. We'll sit and watch TV that way.
Who wouldn't love a cat like that?
So we want him to be healthy. We took him to the vet, but they couldn't make much of determination. It could be any of A, B, or C. (I did e-mail my pal, Matt, to tell him that the funniest moment of the exam was Hank getting his temp taken - through the back door. Hank tried to scramble away, a sort of WTF?!?!? gesture, all of which made me laugh. Is that wrong?)
We got him some antibiotics, but they didn't help much.
So we informed the vet of this, and she gave us a different antibiotic to try. The second one worked for a while, but before long, Hank was back to his old ways - pissing on the tiles in various shades of red.
I talked to my uncle's wife, Kathy, down in Richmond. She's a vet and I have full faith and confidence in her. She recommended a few steps to get Hank pointed in the right direction.
Saturday morning, he made a trip back to the vet for a re-check. We talked about all of the options available to us, all while Hank sat, freaked out, on the exam room table. (To his credit, he was mostly a good soldier.)
Monday morning, he'll be back in again for an X-ray (to make sure it's not bladder stones) and to determine a further course of action.
Who knows exactly what that will be.
All I know is that I want my buddy around for as long as possible.
My dad hated cats. Hell, most of my uncles hates cats too. As a result, I hated cats for a long time. We've also documented here that our other cat, Grace, and I aren't on the best of terms (though my wife continues to tell me that Grace loves me to no end).
But Hank's my boy. I never much thought I'd think so highly of any animal, let alone a cat, as I do of Hank. He's awesome because he doesn't judge; he just wants to hang with his people and get love from his people.
We oblige, because it's impossible not to love Hank.
And that's why my wonderful wife will be dropping him off at the vet on Monday morning. We want him healthy.
Hopefully he gets there soon.
EDIT to remind faithful readers that higher-order thinking, like constructing words and turning a phrase, tends not to work so well after a night of imbibement. So my profound apologies for the simplistic writing.