Claire the vet has just rung with Kevin's test results. It seems that although his kidneys are "very leaky" - the mind boggles at what this means, but thank goodness for skin holding his insides in - his prognosis, apart from the unpredictable old age factor, is middling. Although vague and not flag-wavingly thrilling, this is still comforting, in that he isn't in the dreaded range of 0-6-months-to-live, (but also isn't in the 2-years-plus) and is likely to carry on quite well for some time, which for me, about to leave him for 3 weeks, is a huge relief. There were some percentages of whatever they tested for, which I forgot immediately, as that's maths and science, therefore instantly forgettable, but Claire seemed upbeat about his condition, and I won't argue with that.
He will have another check up and - oh joy! a sample of wee to be tested - before I go away, with Sandra there to be briefed by the vet on what to look out for. The most pressing concern at present is how to cope with Kevin's new practice of waking me up at a hideously early hour to dispense breakfast. Sandra's son, caretaking my house in my absence, may be more hard-hearted than me about this, and Kevin will have to unlearn this unappealing tendency. (No, leaving more supper out when I go to bed isn't an option, now that Tubby You-know-who can find his way to Kevin's dishes.)
Meantime, a tiny bit of rejoicing is in order, with some relief that it is his kidneys, and not his bladder, that leak. And for an old gent who is somewhere around 90 in the equivalent of human years, that's not bad at all. Good old Kevin.
Showing posts with label vet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vet. Show all posts
Monday, 10 March 2008
Wednesday, 5 March 2008
Two Down, One To Go
If you are one of the squeamish who don't want to read about bodily functions, then this post is not for you.
First of all, I managed to obtain a urine sample from Kevin, as requested by the vet, a suggestion received incredulously by me at the time. But it proved surprisingly easy to sneak up on a deaf old cat in the back yard and position a plastic dish under his tail while he wee-ed - he did notice eventually, and meowed in astonishment, but carried on. So far so good. I could be a vet's nurse, I'm sure.
But later on the dog lowered the tone, by throwing up on one of the new chairs. Not simple regurgitation of breakfast - no, that wouldn't do for new chairs - but that scary bile-yellowy-green liquid that burns through carpets, underlay, floorboards, foundations, any secret subterranean chambers beneath....you remember, just like in Alien, acid burning through deck after deck. And on the same new chair that the Wicked Cat has already clicked with his giant claws.
But to my astonishment, and totally unlike similar ruination events in the past involving new carpets or bedcovers, these stains sponged off with warm diluted oxi-type miraculous stain remover. Those chairs must be coated with something quite amazing, possibly designed to repel acid rain, nuclear fallout and the weirdly-coloured goo they put in those corner yoghurts.
The dog seemed unbothered; I suspect this had been the result of over-eating, probably on stolen cat food, so I wasted little sympathy (none at all, to be honest). I stayed calm and zen-like over it all, repeating my lifelong personal mantra several times: You'll Never Have A Nice House While You Have Children & Animals.....You'll Never Have A....and so on.
Later, it was time to take Kevin back to the vet. A much happier little cat today, he walked meekly into the carrier, washed his paws en route, clearly very chilled about it all, and only had to be tipped out of the basket, rather than dragged out by the scruff of the neck, onto the exam table. Questions were asked, tests were taken using the sample, and it was sent off to the lab to determine how long Kevin might have before his kidneys fail altogether. Kevin stood quietly, but I could see him eyeing his basket longingly.
Then he had his blood pressure checked. This involved firm holding by me, lots of fiddly stuff by vet, and some struggling and loud protesting by Kevin. This is the cat who would make a major assault allegation, at top volume, every time he had a new collar put on, so I am inured to the melodrama. Nothing painful or over-intrusive was done; it was just slow and tricky. In the middle of it all, the vet and I noticed a pool of wee appearing from under Kevin, a pool that grew....and grew....and formed a small lagoon....and began to have small white-tipped waves and little boats appear on it, until it reached the edges of the table and trickled onto our shoes...and still it flowed, the urine sample to beat all urine samples. A Pets Win Prizes Urine Sample. Astounded, the vet remarked to him "You're a real pissy-pants today, aren't you!" which I think is obscure veterinary-medical jargon. Kevin returned to the basket with the self-satisfied expression of one who had truly got his point across.
So, we've had vomit, we've had wee - I await the next excretory episode with resigned, nay, fatalistic acceptance and some rubber gloves. If you like, you can chant softly with me: You'll Never Have A Nice House While You Have Children & Animals....
First of all, I managed to obtain a urine sample from Kevin, as requested by the vet, a suggestion received incredulously by me at the time. But it proved surprisingly easy to sneak up on a deaf old cat in the back yard and position a plastic dish under his tail while he wee-ed - he did notice eventually, and meowed in astonishment, but carried on. So far so good. I could be a vet's nurse, I'm sure.
But later on the dog lowered the tone, by throwing up on one of the new chairs. Not simple regurgitation of breakfast - no, that wouldn't do for new chairs - but that scary bile-yellowy-green liquid that burns through carpets, underlay, floorboards, foundations, any secret subterranean chambers beneath....you remember, just like in Alien, acid burning through deck after deck. And on the same new chair that the Wicked Cat has already clicked with his giant claws.
But to my astonishment, and totally unlike similar ruination events in the past involving new carpets or bedcovers, these stains sponged off with warm diluted oxi-type miraculous stain remover. Those chairs must be coated with something quite amazing, possibly designed to repel acid rain, nuclear fallout and the weirdly-coloured goo they put in those corner yoghurts.
The dog seemed unbothered; I suspect this had been the result of over-eating, probably on stolen cat food, so I wasted little sympathy (none at all, to be honest). I stayed calm and zen-like over it all, repeating my lifelong personal mantra several times: You'll Never Have A Nice House While You Have Children & Animals.....You'll Never Have A....and so on.
Later, it was time to take Kevin back to the vet. A much happier little cat today, he walked meekly into the carrier, washed his paws en route, clearly very chilled about it all, and only had to be tipped out of the basket, rather than dragged out by the scruff of the neck, onto the exam table. Questions were asked, tests were taken using the sample, and it was sent off to the lab to determine how long Kevin might have before his kidneys fail altogether. Kevin stood quietly, but I could see him eyeing his basket longingly.
Then he had his blood pressure checked. This involved firm holding by me, lots of fiddly stuff by vet, and some struggling and loud protesting by Kevin. This is the cat who would make a major assault allegation, at top volume, every time he had a new collar put on, so I am inured to the melodrama. Nothing painful or over-intrusive was done; it was just slow and tricky. In the middle of it all, the vet and I noticed a pool of wee appearing from under Kevin, a pool that grew....and grew....and formed a small lagoon....and began to have small white-tipped waves and little boats appear on it, until it reached the edges of the table and trickled onto our shoes...and still it flowed, the urine sample to beat all urine samples. A Pets Win Prizes Urine Sample. Astounded, the vet remarked to him "You're a real pissy-pants today, aren't you!" which I think is obscure veterinary-medical jargon. Kevin returned to the basket with the self-satisfied expression of one who had truly got his point across.
So, we've had vomit, we've had wee - I await the next excretory episode with resigned, nay, fatalistic acceptance and some rubber gloves. If you like, you can chant softly with me: You'll Never Have A Nice House While You Have Children & Animals....
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