So, not “me” Monday; more like “Murphy” Monday.

I have owned many cats over my lifetime; and until now, I have never had a cat that needed dental treatment.  The combination of wet and dry food has always been sufficient to keep my cats’ chompers fine.

And then, there’s Murphy.

Friday, Murphy went for his check-up (long past due thanks to a pandemic – you may have heard of it).  The vet took Murphy to the “treatment area” – a mysterious back area of the building where cat and dog parents are not welcome – to do the actual exam.  And I asked for the whole enchilada – blood and urine analysis; vaccines; etc.

I also wanted the vet’s opinion about Murphy’s belly – which is devoid of fur, thanks to Murphy’s diligent attempt to completely depilatate the area through the studied application of his tongue to the offensively furry area.  Not only does this look weird, but it’s a bit alarming since Murphy never ever throws up.  I’m thinking by now he has a fur ball the size of Ohio inside of him.  (So verdict on the fur removal project – it’s probably some kind of allergy.  So, per the vet’s suggestion, I’m trying him on some Benadryl; and it seems to be helping.)

And then I get the news, Murphy’s teeth have some calcification on them and possible pockets or lesions that could may be painful and could be a source of future infection.


While I’ve never had a cat needing dental treatment, I know about it.  In order to do a dental exam, x-rays, and teeth cleaning (and any necessary extractions), you HAVE to knock the cat out.  If you have ever tried to pill a cat, you can easily figure out why full on anesthesia is necessary for a feline dental treatment.  There is no way on God’s (TIDBI) green earth that the cat is going to cooperate and blood will likely be shed. 

But, I don’t want the little asshole to have pain in his mouth and if it needs to be done, it needs to be done.

Which means, today, I got to get up at the fucking crack of dawn to get Murphy into his carrier and to the vets’ office. 

Murphy was not happy.  All his food had been taken away at 10 p.m. the night before.  Murphy is, if nothing else, a fan of his food.  And he very much objected to having his big butt crammed into the cat carrier.

I am not happy.  I am not a fan of getting up at the fucking crack of dawn for any reason, much less to cram a hangry cat’s big butt into a cat carrier.

So, it was a toss up over who was less happy – although, I’m guessing Murphy wins.  I, at least, didn’t have my fat old lady butt crammed into a cat carrier.

All went well with the procedure.  They had to pull out two of his little front teeth and clean the rest; but the vet said it turned out his teeth were in much better shape than she had first thought.  So, yay.

When I picked up Murphy – stoned to his gills – I was given a nice long list of instructions.  A lot of which dealt with denying Murphy food for quite a few hours. 

At home, Murphy mostly wanted to roll around on the bed and demand lots of pets, which he enjoyed to such an extent that you had to be alert to whether or not he was about to roll right off the bed – which he did at least once. Good drugs.

I have to admit that I gave him food earlier than called for – but I was careful to pace it and make sure everything was staying down.  We were supposed to offer him water after an hour or two – instead I gave him this cat food gravy stuff (seriously, it’s gravy for cat food – what won’t they think of next).  I figured in his stoned condition he’d have a few licks – nope.  Licked the bowl clean.  When that was clearly going to stay inside of him, next step up was lickable treats (basically, cat food flavored mush in a tube).  Oh boy.  And an hour or so after that experiment, we went all out and gave him a can of wet food – he ate some of that (which is his norm – he’ll eat what he wants and then come back to it all day). 

He is only allowed wet food for the next 2 weeks. I expect to be the recipient of lots of cat explicatives when I fail to give him his special crunchy bathroom treats.

But in the meantime, he gets to enjoy pill pockets – with pain meds tucked away inside.

Welcome to my suddenly cat-food-centric world.


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