John Galt Update

Galt is recovering. He is happy to be home, and he should be healthy. The tumor removal was a success.



Ain't he dapper? The deal was pretty expensive, too - about $418.00.

And, yes, I realize I could have fed dinner to 418 homeless crack addicts for that hefty sum. I CHOSE NOT TO.

My regular good humor should return soon.

Good night, all.

hln

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John Galt, Vomit, and Sundry Other Bodily Excretions

Who is John Galt?

This John Galt.

(Though a veterinarian once asked the same question, and the only answer he got from me is "exactly.")

Galt is my first cat - he's 7 1/2 years old. I've had him longer than I've known Brian, and, for the most part he's a great cat. He likes to produce these little benign tumors on various parts of his body. I'm thankful they're benign, but they are still tumors, so we have them removed. I found the third one this morning and flipped out, assuming the worst (malignant until proven benign, etc.).

I got an appointment set up for him - 2:40 this afternoon.

That was the easy part.

See, Galt HATES the carrier. But woman is stronger than cat, so in the carrier he went. I have some experience with this considering the seven years we've been together. First, it was just a bit of vomiting. Now, every time he's in a car, he usually vomits AND performs some other excretory function, the least of which is frothing at the mouth. That's not so bad.

When we moved him from the last house to this one, we didn't use the carrier (moved three cats, had two carriers) and rather kept him on my lap while Brian drove, thinking that he'd be more docile and that the CARRIER was the problem (not the cat - should've known better). About halfway from one house to the next, the cat exhibited pre-stress vomiting behavior. About four blocks from the house, the cat let forth a mildly fetid spew (could've been worse) of Friskies - all over me.

Well, what can you do? I laughed. I laughed so hard I'm sure it was disturbing to the other four people in the car, only one of whom knows me well enough to understand that the only ways for me to react in that situation are to intensely freak out or, as we all say, laugh my ass off.

I digress.

Today's trip to the vet went a little like this.

Heather arrives home from work and sets the cat carrier out (open) before going to sweet talk the cat into being as docile as possible. She places towels in a plastic bag for clean-up of any messes cat will make. Cat reads Heather's intentions while she approaches him and hides under the sofa. Other cats watch, bemused (because they're cats). Heather scruffs Galt and takes him upstairs. Battle of wills ensues. Cat loses.

Cat in carrier goes in car. About halfway there, cat vomits (quite unceremoniously, which is odd for him, as I mentioned). I shrug it off; I'm "prepared."

Another 1/4 mile, and cat defecates. I know this from the smell. He's in the carrier, and I've got the sunroof open, so I make unpleasant faces, scrunching up my face to avoid the smell as much as possible and ignore Galt's yowling for the remainder of the trip.

When we arrive, I formulate this great plan, whereby I will open the cat carrier (because once the cat's in, he doesn't want out, y'know) and clean the front part where the vomit is, then remove the cat, clean the back, more offensive part, and then replace the cat in the carrier.

Uh, no. Cat escapes. Heather quickly closes the sunroof. Cat has nowhere to go. Yowling still, cat paces on the dashboard while Heather cleans out the carrier. The cat has defecated on the towel, so the carrier is actually clean when the towel and vomit from the front are removed.

Now, to place cat in carrier yet again. Because of Heather's seated position in driver's section of car, cat actually wins this battle.

Heather scruffs cat, opens door, and drags screaming cat (all 13 lbs of him) into Page Animal Hospital. Veterinary workers view distressed mother and cat.

The rest of the time, of course, cat is docile, sweet, loving, and kind, even during the biospy.

It's benign. I'm at my emotional wits' end, though. You'd think I'd be relieved, instead.

But... His surgery's Tuesday. We do it ALL OVER AGAIN!

I told them to expect a dirty cat.

hln

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