Post 1754: “We gotta do it, Andy! We gotta do it!”

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Remember this Andy from yesterday? Defiant? Confident? Full of cattitude? Well, what follows is, um, pathetic, heart-wrenching, tragic, maybe semi-legal in Catatonia, where all cats come from: Medicine Time!

Good grief! Such drama! What could be the cause of such terror?

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Well…a wet paper towel that I’ll use to wipe dribbled medicine from Andy’s mouth and face and the syringe with the dose of blood pressure medicine. Pretty scary, I’ll say!

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There is some resistance before I get Andy wrapped up in a towel. (Notice all the kitty hair on the rug? My vacuum cleaner – yes, the fabled Dyson for pets, though I’m not getting paid to mention it – is starting to give up the ghost trying to keep up with shedding season.)

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I need three hands to give the medicine and take a photo, so this is what I see moments before I stick the syringe into Andy’s mouth and squirt the medicine – as much as I can – into the kitty. There’s a trick to it, but the kitty burrito approach immobilizes the kitty boy’s  “Holy Terror from the Deepest Regions of Hell” claws.

I managed to get virtually the whole dose down Andy today. Some days, as much as a third of it dribbles down the side of his face when his “Kitty Lips Sealed Tighter than a Deep Sea Submersible at the Bottom of the Marianas Trench” resist the medicine.

“We gotta do it, Andy! We gotta do it!”

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