Well, took Loki into the vet this morning to get his blood work done so we can finally get him started on Ye Olde Insulin–he’s stabilized a good bit, but he’s still slowly dropping weight, and is down to 19lbs from his all-time high of 26lbs. (Yes, yes, I know. I’m a terrible person. I’m sorry. He was fat when I got him, and I swear to god, you’ve never met a more diet-resistant cat in your life.) The vet (a Wisconsin expatriate–I think I meet more people from the Midwest down here than I did when I actually LIVED in the Midwest!) kept him all day to get the appropriate blood levels, and also in hopes of seeing how symptomatic he was–how much he was drinking, if he was urinating a lot (which he is) and so forth.
And, predictably, the animal that grazes like a fuzzy little hippo given the opportunity, and who will nap with his chin on the water dish so that he doesn’t have to expend any energy getting up to drink, refused to eat, drink, urinate, or in fact do anything but watch what all the people were doing, and cuddle with them if possible. He’s a terribly nice cat, but perverse that way. (There were several comments on his cuddliness, although as usual, the number one statement by vet, interns, bystanders, etc, was some variation on “That’s a BIG cat!”) Unable to palpitate his bladder through layers of flab, the vet ultrasounded him, located the offending organ, and then drew a urine sample with a needle, which is probably even less fun than it sounds. I brought him home, and after a quick sniff around to make sure that he was, indeed, home, he lunged for the remains of the other cat’s lunch and downed it with a speed and ferocity usually only seen in rabid barracuda.
Tomorrow, we’ll get the insulin regimen proscribed, and soon, I will learn to give subcutaneous injections, which I’ve done once or twice, but there’s a big difference between randomly jabbing a sharpei on an internship job in a vet’s office, and shooting up your own protesting cat in the kitchen.
But my stepmother, who is one tough cookie, has offered to help me if I have any problems, and she’s evidentally injected members of a whole range of genuses, so we should be fine.
Another job is coming through, so I don’t feel as bad about the one that’s gone a bit weird in the finance department–if they confirm that that was what they planned on paying me, I’ll politely and enthusiastically quote original payscales, and if that fails, then que sera, sera…I have other fish to fry. (Not slap.)
