Each day has its own challenges when it comes to Andy and giving him his medicine.
I try not to alarm Andy when I stalk him to catch him to give him his medicine. Many times, he loses track of events and comes up to me, begging for treats or play time: I snatch him right up!
“I see you!”
Other times, when he doesn’t come around to me, I try to catch him unawares. Unless he’s in deep sleep, he generally senses me coming and skedaddles before I can snatch him up. (He’s a western kitty. Yes, he “skedaddles”!)
Not today, though. I caught him unawares, deep sleeping on top of the blue carrier he uses for his daytime outpost. Curiously, he doesn’t struggle when I catch him, then carry him to the medicating chair cradled like a baby in the crook of my arm.
That is, until I reach for The White Towel, the Object of His Oppression. Ever try to wrap a struggling cat in a towel? Five hands isn’t always enough, though I somehow manage to do it with two.
“I won’t like it!”
Awww! Poor Andy wrapped in the towel. He becomes quiet, a little oppressed victim of The Man! Because the medication is for hypertension, I rub his ears and try to calm him.
(What stress is there in an indoor cat’s life, other than his brother and me giving him blood pressure medicine? Hunh!?)
“Why!? Why!? WHY!? I’m just a little kitty!”
Dougy watches the process. He may feel sorry for his brother, though I suspect he’s more concerned that he might be next.
“Brother, are you OK?”
I give Andy the syringe full of chicken-flavored medicine in small mouthfuls. He slowly gags it down. Then I tell him what a good kitty he is — and mostly he is — while rubbing his nose (which he likes) and scratching his ears (which he also likes).
I put him down. Well, he struggles out of the towel when I loosen my grip and he “escapes” with a bound! I give him some treats. He gets over the indignity of medicine squirted into his mouth, and things return to normal for the rest of the day.
“Did you see what the human did to me, Dougy?”