Needle-Festooned Cat

I spoke to Dr. Press late last week and he said that Prednisone is our last resort for Thelonious and that I shouldn’t bother trying syringe feeding if she stops eating, as the point is not for her to eat but for her to feel well enough to want to eat.

He said if she stops eating altogether, it’s time to “put her in hospice,” which means to keep her comfortable while she is dying.

I called Pet’s Rest Cemetery and discovered a pricing anomaly: It costs $130 for them to take away your cat’s body, include it in a mass cremation and not bring you back the ashes. It also costs $130 for them to take away your cat’s body, do a separate cremation, and bring you back the ashes.

They call it a “private” cremation, but my mother pointed out that they probably do not fire up their furnace to cremate one cat, which also would hardly be environmentally friendly, and that what they probably do is erect some sort of barrier that keeps your cat’s body separate from other bodies.

When my grandmother died, it was after the scandal in Georgia where a crematory had failed to cremate many people whose families had paid for the service, so we had to go on a family field trip to make sure it was really my grandmother they were putting in the furnace. (It was.)

I spent the Labor Day weekend sleeping, eating burritos and candy bars, and watching DVDs, with and without Tom: Munich, Cavite, Cache, The Lost City, North Country and something called A Perfect Fit.

At Tom’s I emitted approximately 19 ladylike bursts of flatulence in a row, fragrance-free, of course. After each one, I said, “Tom, no farting.” It started after he gave me a couple of frozen Junior Mints. Finally he asked, “What did you have for dinner?”

“Let’s see, five candy bars and a burrito. And an orange soda.”

“Hmmm.”

“Can I have another Junior Mint?”

“On your way out.”

I got a call from my uncle in regard to a hat left at his house outside Detroit on Father’s Day. “Is it dorky-looking?” I asked. There was an embarrassed chuckle, which meant it must be an Atkins hat, but not mine, because I never let my dorky hat out of my sight.

Given that Thelonious seems perfectly fine about half the time, I decided I would be remiss if I didn’t try acupuncture at least once. I had been put off originally by the cost, as the vet was talking about a course of many treatments, each of which would cost more than one of my acupuncture treatments.

But I realized I could go and have one session of acupuncture, and not take her back again if I didn’t want to, so we went today to see Dr. Fong, who looked over her chart carefully and acted like he had all the time in the world, not like he was in a huge rush. Fortunately, he didn’t think we needed more blood work or an ultrasound right away, as she had those things very recently, and they are not inexpensive. I was prepared to say I wasn’t going to pay for those tests again so soon, but was glad I didn’t have to.

He is not persuaded she has Inflammatory Bowel Disease, though it could be—it could also be lymphoma—so he suggested doing some acupuncture and starting her on three new medications, keeping her on the Prednisone for now, and checking her again in a week.

Thelonious seemed relatively relaxed and actually wandered around the exam room, which she never does at her other vet’s. I could not imagine how cat acupuncture could be done, but now I have seen it with my own eyes. Dr. Fong asked me to hold her up on her hind legs, and then he inserted three or four disposable needles in her belly.

She hissed convincingly, but didn’t writhe around or meow or try to get away. Also, she didn’t bite me, which would have been embarrassing. Once those needles were in, with their colored ends sticking out, he said I could set her down and then he put several more needles in her back and the top of her head. With each one, she hissed, but made no particular effort to escape.

Once all the needles were in, she seemed entirely comfortable and walked around on the table with all the needles hanging out of her, like a bull in a bullfight. I said, “I wish I had my camera,” and Dr. Fong said, “Everybody says that. As soon as I put the needles in, they get out their phone and start taking pictures.”

The new pills are much larger than her Prednisone tablets, but I was able to use the pill shooter to give her one when we got home, and it went down just as easily as the little ones do, thank goodness. I should find that guy who made the video about giving his cat a pill, the one I initially scoffed at, and send him a thank-you card.