Raedthinn has always been a puker. Almost every morning, I wake up to the Barf Alarm and he hocks up a hairball. But recently he seems to have turned it into a damned hobby, perfecting his craft via constant practice. So… in to the vet he went, about a week ago. Step one was to assume hairball issues. So he got some meds and some tuna-flavored goop to help move that stuff out. Seemed to help… for about two days. So back in he went today. This time, blood tests… which showed nothing other than he’s healthy (yay, because kidneys and liver were suspects). And an Xray which showed that he is plugged up but good.
Seems he has himself a case of megacolon, which is jsut what it sounds like. It is also an issue that the late lamented Marvin had. In Marvins case, it was because she suffered from malnutrition before joining the household; in Raedthinn’s case… the vet suggests it’s because he’s just been holding it in. Might be because he doesn’t want to poop where Bruce poops. Who knows. So today, I got a brief description of why I’m glad I’m not a vet-tech… because Raedthinn got several enemas. Thrilling for everyone involved, I bet. He’s spending the night at the vet so they can measure his overnight poop. Exciting stuff.
It’s stuff like this that makes the tiny part of me that’s still willing to look on the bright side glad that I am utterly uninteresting to the female of my particular species. Dealing with unwell cats is bother and costly enough. Imagine if I had to care for a *child.* Hell, you’ll get in trouble if you boot one of *those* out to the curb. You can’t even put one of those “invisible fence” collars on ’em!
