Tuesday morning: Shorty goes to vet and gets spayed.
Tuesday afternoon: Shorty is released from vet; vet tech says “try to keep her from running and jumping on stuff.” “OK,” I say.
Tuesday night: Shorty mostly chills and behaves.
Wednesday morning: Shorty goes LOL IMA DO EVERYTHING THE VET TECH TOLD YOU TO KEEP ME FROM DOING. I call the vet. Vet tech laughs and goes “Yyyyyyeah, they do that sometimes.” We agree that putting her in the bathroom with food, water, litterbox, and sleeping rug–i.e. the usual routine of Putting Shorty to Bed, except at 10 in the morning–and keeping her there most of the time is the best course of action.
Thursday: It is time to give Shorty a fucking enormous$8 pill because she apparently also had tapeworms. I mush pill into a wad of cheese. I eye the wad of loaded cheese and think fuck, this is never going to work. Shorty snorfs down loaded cheese like a champ! And then spends most of the day in the bathroom again. I regain a few sanity points.
Shorty: *le chilling in living room being good and not running and jumping all over the place*
Me: Wow, you’re being very good this morning.
Shorty: *poing!* *le flipping the fuck out and running and jumping all over the place*
Me: -_-; Okay, is it time to put you back in the bathroom?
Shorty: O_o!? …*le peeling out and running full speed to bathroom*
Me *le putting food in bathroom and quickly closing door* *le quietly having nervous breakdown*
okay look self you have been looking at her incision like ten times a day, she’s not licking it or nibbling on the stitches or anything, it’s nice and calm and normal-Shorty-skin pink and not oozing anything, there are no strange lumps, she’s eating, drinking, peeing, and pooping, you are doing everything you can do to keep her from running around like a crazy animal short of tying her up in a pillowcase with her head sticking out, you are doing everything right, so fucking chill already
Mirrored from Fire of Unknown Origin.