We have two geriatric babies: Hektor, who is a 14-year old black kitty with fangs of terror (also known as the breaker of horses and men), and Toby, who is a 16-year old siamese kitty with bulimia. They are both needy, whiny, and shed, but they purr, so they get to live with the heroes of this blog.
Today marked our first dependent-related medical procedure: we dropped Hektor off at the vet this morning for surgery. Because he was a foul-mouthed beast. In other words...Hektor went to the dentist.
San slept poorly last night, worrying about the impending procedure to his baby. Two weeks ago, the vet predicted that three teeth would come out. She did, however, admit that she was so excited about the first bad one that caught her attention that she hadn't really looked at the rest.
At the appointed hour, we deposited kitty with the receptionist. Tracy went to work; San worked from home with his phone on his person at all times and nerves on full alert. When Tracy checked in around lunchtime, San was still formulating fifty gruesome scenes of dental disaster and had nearly given himself an outbreak of gout. Ten minutes later, San finally got a call. Hektor made it through surgery, was groggy, and the vet had extracted EIGHT teeth.
That's right: eight.
Promptly at 4:30, San and Tracy went to fetch the feline. The vet tech reported that Hektor was missing six teeth when he went in for surgery, and that eight more had come out. And that he was supposed to have 32. Quick math revealed that he has 18 left, which is just over half. In fact, the left half. Much to San's relief, the infamous upper fangs remained intact.
Armed with three syringes of pain medication, a bottle of antibiotics, four pages of instructions and patient information, and a bid from the tech to, "Call us if you have any questions at all!" Tracy, San, and Hektor went home. The black cat wobbled drunkenly out of his cage, leaned on nearby legs for precarious support, and headed straight for the other kitty's food dish. Tracy quickly popped a can of Fancy Feast and fed the beast a third of the can. An hour later, after much kitty whining and the discovery that Hektor had eaten the Toby's third, she fed the beast the last third. And still another hour later, Tracy was forced to open a second can to calm the insatiable patient. He finished filling his not-so-little kitty tummy and passed out on the futon, where he still sleeps as we write.
Moral of the story? Brush your teeth before bed.
Today marked our first dependent-related medical procedure: we dropped Hektor off at the vet this morning for surgery. Because he was a foul-mouthed beast. In other words...Hektor went to the dentist.
San slept poorly last night, worrying about the impending procedure to his baby. Two weeks ago, the vet predicted that three teeth would come out. She did, however, admit that she was so excited about the first bad one that caught her attention that she hadn't really looked at the rest.
At the appointed hour, we deposited kitty with the receptionist. Tracy went to work; San worked from home with his phone on his person at all times and nerves on full alert. When Tracy checked in around lunchtime, San was still formulating fifty gruesome scenes of dental disaster and had nearly given himself an outbreak of gout. Ten minutes later, San finally got a call. Hektor made it through surgery, was groggy, and the vet had extracted EIGHT teeth.
That's right: eight.
Promptly at 4:30, San and Tracy went to fetch the feline. The vet tech reported that Hektor was missing six teeth when he went in for surgery, and that eight more had come out. And that he was supposed to have 32. Quick math revealed that he has 18 left, which is just over half. In fact, the left half. Much to San's relief, the infamous upper fangs remained intact.
Armed with three syringes of pain medication, a bottle of antibiotics, four pages of instructions and patient information, and a bid from the tech to, "Call us if you have any questions at all!" Tracy, San, and Hektor went home. The black cat wobbled drunkenly out of his cage, leaned on nearby legs for precarious support, and headed straight for the other kitty's food dish. Tracy quickly popped a can of Fancy Feast and fed the beast a third of the can. An hour later, after much kitty whining and the discovery that Hektor had eaten the Toby's third, she fed the beast the last third. And still another hour later, Tracy was forced to open a second can to calm the insatiable patient. He finished filling his not-so-little kitty tummy and passed out on the futon, where he still sleeps as we write.
Moral of the story? Brush your teeth before bed.
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