Here’s the picture I wanted to post on Tuesday, of Oliver in the check box. My phone decided that, of the three pictures I emailed to my computer, only the one of Obi was important so the two of Oli didn’t arrive until four hours after I wrote the blog.
So now, in the ongoing story of Oliver, his fever and his limps:
About two weeks ago, Oliver started limping again. The thing is, though, that this limp doesn’t look like his fever limp. And Oli has put up with almost daily temperature readings since he started limping to assure me that he DOES NOT have a fever. Plus, he’s still on drugs.
Another thing: he doesn’t care that he’s limping. He eats. He plays. He instigates thunders. Whatever pain is causing him to limp isn’t keeping him down at all.
So that’s why I – she who accused by practically everyone of spoiling her cats – did not call the vet for two weeks. But on Monday, Oliver and I were having a serious snuggle fest. He was laying on his back between me and the couch, feet in the air. I was playing with his toes and noticed that one of his toe-pads had been damaged at some point and is healed kind of weird.
“Well,” I thought, “maybe that’s painful to him.” With a possible solution in mind, I called and made an appointment. For the last two days, The Boy and I have debated which leg he is limping on. I said driver’s side, which is the side with the weird toe. The Boy said passenger side. Silly Boy, that is NOT the side with the weird toe.
But…he is limping on the passenger side. Today he was even holding his right foot up. Grr.
We just returned from the doctor. After talking to me and telling Oliver how very handsome he is because yes he is so handsome such and handsome little man and oh so fluffy, Dr. Glick took him to the back room to see if he would walk for her. I waited in the exam room. I knew he was back there either not walking or not limping. Perhaps, as a friend on the Book of Face suggested, he was doing a little limp-free dance to show that I am delusional.
He tried not to limp in front of the doctor. He failed.
When she came back, she talked about his degree of lameness. He took that personally.
Since Oliver has decided that the best course of action at the doctor’s office is to be a jerk to everyone right off the bat and to growl, hiss and resist everything they do, an X-ray would have required sedation. Plus, almost anything we’d find in the X-ray would be treated with a shot of painkiller. So we skipped that whole rigamarole and just got him the shot.
And now we’re back. Obi is giving Oli a bath on the couch and they are both giving me the silent treatment. If I hear the pitter patter of four little feet tonight instead of the thump thu-thump of the limper, though, it will all be worth it.
Update! Four hours later I have no limping cats. Yay!
Oh go0d, Obi has forgiven me just in time to blog. He’s trying to kill the mouse, which he does regularly and with great precision. Then I have to spend five minutes resuscitating it. Now I’ve got the mouse in my lap and Obi is pushing buttons. The volume on the compute is all the way up. All drives have ejected. Number lock is on, off, on, off, on…
It’s Thunder Thursday! Have you seen the fuzzy adorableness that is my Pinterest board lately?
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