That's where I took Mickey Kitty this afternoon... to the local country vet. And I call him a 'country vet' because every time I've been there, the man tells me that he's "a farm boy who likes to get his money's worth," so he doesn't like to talk people into doing "more than what's necessary" for their pets. "I don't want y'all to be running over your budget," he told me today.
For the past couple of days, my husband and the handyman have been doing yard work out back behind the garage... right about where Mickey likes to sit in the sun on a nice day, and the past few days have indeed been glorious. When there is unfamiliar noise outside, Mickey will run and hide and I won't see him for hours. And, being that I noticed he wasn't eating very much yesterday, and seemed to be somewhat lethargic, I didn't think that having him run off and hide was a good idea.
I brought Mickey into the house yesterday, and kept him in the kitchen all afternoon. He chose a chair, jumped up into it, and didn't move for six hours. Nor did he eat or drink water. When I brought him back into the garage last night, he wouldn't touch his dish of Fancy Feast, and this morning, the food I left there for him wasn't touched either. Never a good sign for a cat, especially one as small as Mickey.
This morning, I again brought Mickey into the kitchen when the work started outside... and he slept in a chair, wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink. I picked him up to get a better look at his eyes and he hissed and spit and carried on like a fool, which is very unlike his personality. Definitely something wrong with that cat.
I called the vet's office at lunch-time, and they suggested I bring him in for a look-see. Into the cat-carrier went Mickey, and off we drove towards town. All the way there, not a meow out of Mickey. When we got there, he watched a new puppy in the waiting room, he watched an adult dog walking towards the front door of the office, and still not a tiny meow.
The vet examined Mickey, who sat like a lump of black fur on the metal table. The vet, "going by his gut," as he told me, said that Mickey probably had a slight kidney problem, maybe the start of an infection. Taking blood for testing would give us conclusive evidence, but would also give me a large bill to pay, said the man. Being that Mickey is ten years old, the vet suggested that I allow him to administer a shot of vitamins and a shot of antibiotics... within a couple of days, he said Mickey would either seem better or get worse. And if the 'worst' happened, he wouldn't argue with me if I chose to "put that there cat down."
So the vet gave Mickey the shots... and still, no meows from Mickey, no movement... he just sat there on the table and took the shots without a whimper while I put my head towards the wall because I couldn't bear to watch. As the vet put Mickey back into the cat-carrier, he told me the best thing for Mickey would be to eat something... "Put his favorite food out when you get home and see what happens." As I walked to the door of the clinic, the vet told me that he had fresh turnips and parsnips in the back of his pick-up truck... "Free to a good home--- take as much as you'd like," he told me. (I didn't take anything... I'm not a fan of turnips and parsnips.... plus I'd have to wash them and cut them up and possibly ruin a very nice manicure.)
As I walked into the kitchen, Mickey's favorite-flavor-of-the-moment was already in his bowl by his water dish. But that Fancy Feast had been in that bowl since the morning... Mickey never touched any food that had been in a dish for more than half an hour, much less all morning and half of the afternoon. I let Mickey out of the carrier and turned around to put my purse on the counter-top so I could open up a new can of Fancy Feast.
I was standing there with the can of "Flaked Trout" in my hand and there was Mickey... on the floor in front of the food dish, gobbling up every last bit of the leftovers in that bowl. I just watched him, speechless. When he was done with the flaked trout, he stood there by his bowl, his signal to me that what he just ate was not enough.
Into his dish went another serving of the Fancy Feast, and Mickey gobbled that up as well... and then drank a little water. When he was done, he cleaned his paws a bit, jumped up into the same chair that he had been sleeping in when I picked him up to take him to the vet's office..... he went right to sleep and didn't budge until I had to put him into his bed in the garage when the outside work was all finished.
Personally, I don't think the "worst" is going to happen. Mickey has already eaten enough flaked trout to make up for both yesterday and today. And tomorrow, if that cat turns his nose up at another can of Fancy Feast trout, then I know he's really feeling better. Usually, Mickey favorite-flavor doesn't last for more than 48 hours at best.
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