THREE DEADLY WORDS
A call to the "good" vet yesterday revealed that scurvy Kirby's catheter had gotten kinked again, which meant he was blocked. The doctor removed the thing -- and the awful Elizabethan collar -- and tried to flush him out. Twice. Apparently it's not working very well. The vet and I are hoping he will somehow start urinating on his own (in a litterbox). I asked her, What If -- as in, worst case scenario. And she said three of the scariest words ever; Surgical Penis Removal. This made me feel sick, and not just because of the cost.
Later I visited Mr. Q. (Scurvy's full name is Kirby Q-Tie). He growled at the candy striper who brought him in, but not at me. Fortunately he was wrapped in a towel (he still smells of urine) and we sat down and had a nice half-hour visit. He even purred at one point and showed interest in his toy mouse and did his cute involuntary mouth-clicks when I flashed a mirror and said, "CD's!? CD's!?" If I visit him again I'll dose him with catnip right before I leave, so he'll enjoy at least a few minutes of oblivion. But I'm hoping to spring him today (this is starting to remind me of Bindi's stint at Mysore's Apollo Hospital earlier this year; see http://mysore.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_mysore_archive.html).