Scrappy is being very affectionate tonight. It’s probably because his brother, Gomez, made an unscheduled trip to the vet this morning and didn’t come home. Scrappy may think we’ve murdered him.
He’s not dead. He’s just never stayed at the vet overnight before. None of our (current) cats have. Hopefully he will come home tomorrow to tell his brother and sister all about his adventure.
Poor Gomez. He came home very late last night, and was clearly very tense. It’s not that unusual for him to be anxious – they were all feral kittens originally and, while the others have turned into normal domestic cats, Gomez has never fully lost that “Everyone is out to kill me!!!” streak. When Rob and I were on honeymoon last year, my parents stayed at our place to cat-sit and found that Gomez wouldn’t even come into the house with them there. “Aargh! Strangers!” “Arrgh! Pats!” “Aargh! Dinner!” “… well, ok, maybe dinner is tolerable if you don’t look at me…” Gomez seems so convinced everything is a trap, it’s actually quite an ordeal even for us to get him to come inside for meals. And he’s developed the habit of standing at the door and then running away when you open it to let him in. He’s a bit of a dick like that.
Having said that, he forgets all of this when he thinks you’re asleep and he wants to snuggle. The anxiety is a bit of a show.
But last night it wasn’t for show. He just wasn’t himself. He wasn’t injured in any apparent way, and he was moving alright, so I wondered whether he’d just received a big fright and was still working through it. However, when I woke up this morning and found him lying under the dining table in a puddle of his own urine…
That’s why he was rushed to the vet. They think he’s got a kidney stone, so they’re keeping him in on pain relief until it passes (if it passes). Poor little dude. Kidney stones are their own kind of unendurable, please-kill-me pain. He’s only two years old too, so hopefully this isn’t a sign of things to come for him.