THIS FAT OLD LADY GIVES IT HER BEST SHOT

 

angry cat 2And I will have the scars to prove it.

Today is the first day that I had to give little fuzz brain Oliver his B vitamin shot. Not something I was looking forward to; but you gotta do what you gotta do.

He was out early today (he usually snoozes either in my closet or under the futon until around 11 a.m.), and I also noticed he seemed a little lethargic; which made me think he was really needing that B vitamin boost.

I got the injection ready.

First, WHY do they give me such big fucking needles? This is not the fine needle I was promised. This is a toad stabber. And for a really big toad at that.

I was thinking, I’d go get one of my insulin syringes, but figured I’d give the toad stabber a try. My first mistake.

I was going to try to give him his shot while he lazed on the table near his food. My second mistake.

Ollie was having none of it.

So I grabbed him, and he went total bezerker on my ass – well, okay, on my left arm and hand. Blood is flying (mine) and neither of us are happy at this point.

I hold him by the scruff (which usually quiets him – but not this time, his little furball mind has left the building), and I carry him to the bedroom, where I figure I can pin him down on the bed and give him the shot.

We make it to the bedroom, and I put him on the bed. My third mistake.

As soon as he has some leverage, he decides to make a break for it in earnest. I had no idea he was just goofing around before. More blood is shed (mine).

I finally get him pinned and I’m trying to get some loose skin to give him the (subcutaneous) shot – and mind you, I’m bleeding profusely and still holding the toad stabber and trying to keep it sterile.

Now wouldn’t you think a cat who has gone from 13 pounds down to 6 would have some excess skin just hanging around? I certainly thought so. (Yet another mistake.)

So now I’m pulling up his skin (covered in his long gray fluff), trying to find a place where I can stick this humongous needle without seriously injuring either of us. Finally, I find a likely spot, the needle is in, the shot is given.

Success at last.

I let Ollie go and he is gone. I’m thinking for good. I’m thinking I might see him from a distance in a couple of days or so.

I go and start washing the blood off and finding my new extra skin friendly plasters (that’s Australian for bandaids, which is where these things are from – any other kind of bandaid, sorry plaster, and my skin tends to rip up along with the bandaid when I remove it).

I’m guessing the shot worked, because shortly thereafter, here’s Ollie, begging for food. He lets me lift him up into my arms where he enjoys some major pets (despite his just recently being the wickedest cat alive) and I enjoy major purring and cat drool (which Ollie assures me is good for all manner of cat inflicted wounds).

Gee only five more rounds of weekly shots left, and then every other week forever. I got to order me some more of those plasters.

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