These past few weeks have proven to be some of the most stressful I have ever experienced in my life. Usually Mama is to blame for such high levels but this time it was one very constipated, high maintenance kitty.
Coco has been to the vet three times in one week. Her refusal to eat any wet food or offer up some miracle in her litter box has left me both exhausted and broke. Sunday evening her shivering reached a level that was unbearable for me to watch and so I packed her up and we went to the vet ER.
Zio had been calling me twice a day and offered to take us there so I gladly accepted his offer. After her second x-ray it was obvious that she was still blocked up inside. The decision to do an enema was made. Oh my poor baby…if you think the thermometer hurt, this is going to hurt like hell. We all began to hold her down as the vet tried to insert the enema. Zio started screaming “a mano, a mano” but I had no idea who’s hand he was referring to. Mine? His? Coco’s? Then we stopped, and that’s when I saw Coco’s claws dug into Zio’s paper thin skin on his hand. There was blood everywhere.
“Oh God!” Zio, we have to get you to a hospital for stitches!” But he refused. The vet washed and wrapped his hand quickly and I started to cry. This is just too much. Why have I decided to drag a 72 year-old man out in the rain on a Sunday night before dinnertime? What was I thinking?
The vet called another vet for assistance and we got back to work on Coco. A few attempts later we got the suppository in her and the job was done. We quickly settled a second visit the next day and went on our way, hopefully to be home by dinner time.
It was now pouring rain. Could this day get any worse? Back in Zio’s car we started for home. I asked Zio to swear to secrecy and not tell Mama about his hand. I knew she would be furious with me if she found out. In that moment a raucous smell filled the parameter of the car…the enema had worked! Coco pooped in her cage and was struggling and swatting through the gate to be let out. We were all overwhelmed by the stench and then I started laughing so hard that tears came in buckets.
I pulled the neck of my sweater up to my nose to block it out and Zio pulled it down and said “if I have to smell it so do you.” We rolled the windows down but not too much because of the rain. By this time we were both in hysterics from laughing. Leave it to Coco to provide perfect comic relief.
Later on, Coco kept me up all night while she meowed, did a strange moonwalk and kept falling off the furniture. Her blue eyes were as big as two black saucers from whatever pain killer they gave her. I called my sister and relayed my tale. I said that I will be devastated when Zio dies because he is such a good man, and my sister, without missing a beat said, “Well he would live longer if you would stop trying to kill the poor man!”
My sister is a nurse, so I am betting that her rich sense of humour and comedic timing are a genuine gift in times like this. Thanks for the laughs but next time can we do this with a bit less drama?