The Blog To End All Blogs

This isn't the end of my blog, I just thought the title was better than the other options of "Constipated Cat" or "Fecally Challenged Feline", oh yes, this is shaping up to be a real humdinger.

For people just starting out with my blog, we have a house full of animals including four useless cats. One of these cats occasionally, for want of a better phrase, gets "bunged up". Probably because she eats anything and everything that isn't nailed down (except for mice, she has an aversion to mice). This is usually not a problem, as she rights herself within a day. This time around, we were not so lucky, and sparing you the sordid details that caused us to come to this conclusion, Rob determines the cat needs to go to the vet for an enema. 

"Jolly good" says I, "You just go right ahead and fix it up honey". Unfortunately he does, for 4:20 in the afternoon, when he is otherwise engaged at work, and I have no option but to catch the - reeking - cat and cart it off to the vets office myself. Bastard. 

First we have to coax it out from under my bed. Rob on the other end of the phone, helpfully suggests using a broom. I opt for shaking the cat cookies, and sure enough she slinks out into the hall where I am lying in wait. I swoop in, grab the cat, and holding her at arms length in case she squirts, yell at my kids to grab the cat carrier.

There is no response, I yell again. Still nothing. The cat meanwhile has had enough of this nonsense and is squirming like crazy. The ass end stinks, and I am doing my best to keep her as far away from my nose as possible. Subtlety is lost on my children so I scream, "Someone get the fucking cat carrier. Now!". To be fair, I had asked Grady to bring the carrier in (it was just outside the back door) when I had gone to locate the cat. As usual he wasn't paying attention and had toddled off to tear the garage apart to look for it.  

By now, the cat has clued in that this does not bode well, and as I try and lower her into the carrier, she is fighting it every inch of the way, limbs akimbo, and hissing loudly. It is always nice to know that when needs must, I can rely on my children. Sidney and Lindsay are backing away in horror, shirts pulled dramatically up over the lower half of their faces, as they let out muffled whines, "It smells, I'm gonna throw up". Grady is poking ineffectually with one hand at the cat, trying to push her legs into the carrier, while his other hand is clasped over his nose. My curses alternate between the cat and my husband, who, still at the office is blissfully unaware of the chaos erupting at home. 

I finally head for the door, and Sid who now thinks this could be a fun trip, decides to come too. We'd hadn't even backed out of the driveway before she is complaining bitterly about the stench emanating from the carrier. No going back now, she is in it for the long haul. 

I am going to pause here and continue tomorrow. Believe me, the best is yet to come. Stay tuned.