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This is more of a lament than a rant, but anyway:
This morning I was awakened in the usual manner by the Wonder Kitty; he starts off by walking on my head, and if that has no effect, he rubs his gums on my face in a very obnoxious and spitty way. Today, however, as I was getting up to feed the beasts, I saw that Randy was sporting the biggest damn hematoma I've ever seen in his one remaining ear.
Seriously. This thing is only slightly smaller than a Ping-Pong ball. His poor ear looks like a potsticker. And it wasn't there last night.
So I hauled him and my sorry quasi-hungover ass to the vet clinic, whilst chewing on five or six pieces of Dentyne in the hope of masking the leftover wine fumes that were undoubtably emanating from my person. Whatever. I had planned on a lovely late lie-in. I had no idea that I would have to be a responsible adult at eight in the morning.
He is scheduled for surgery on Tuesday morning. I have a great deal of respect for, and trust in my veterinarian (she's a straight-shooting, ex-Army type), but when she casually mentioned that "At least he'll have a matching set of ears now", I got kind of upset.
"There's no way to save the ear, then?" I asked.
"I'll do my best to quilt it back together, but it's pretty blown out," she told me. "It's likely to crumple."
Damnit. Poor old Randy Pants.
On the way home, just to ice the cake, he crapped in his carrier, and sat in it. So on top of everything else, I had to bathe him. Neither of us enjoyed this.
I'm worried. Randy is FIV positive, so the usual risks of anesthesia are multiplied. Also, I feel guilty; he might have an ear infection that I didn't notice. I pay a lot of attention to my cats (including regular nail clipping and ear cleaning), so the idea that I might've missed something really bothers me.
At least we now have an answer to the question, "Honey, what should we do with the tax return money?"
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