Last time in this column: My cat, Algie, went back to the vet. Again. Some more. They gave him shots. He got a little better. Then he got a lot worse. He started lying around like he was going to die. So we spent all day saying goodbye. Then we took him to the vet for the final time. And we cried. A lot.
• Vet’s office
Vet: “So, you’re sure you want to put him down?”
Algie: Sigh. “Be free of me, woman. I am done for. Let me bound after cloudy catnip in the sky and remember me fondly. Adieu.”
Jules: Sniffle. “I think it’s for the best.”
Vet: “Because all he has is a fever.”
Jules: “…ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
Vet: “His temp is 108. Other than that, he’s fine. He just needs antibiotics.”
Algie: “Woe. I am a dishrag. A very hot, hot dishrag.”
Jules: “Get in the car, FAKER. We’re going home.”
• Two months later
Algie: “Woohoo! I’m playing, I’m happy, I’m eating grass outside.” FLARP!
Jules: “Excuse me?”
Algie: “Grassball.”
• Three, six and nine months later
Jules: “WOAH, Kitty! That smell’s gonna kill us in our sleep!”
Algie: “Way to make me feel bad. Oh wait. I ALREADY DO.”
Jules: “Guess it’s time for steroid shots.”
Algie: “Woo.”
• One year later
Algie: “Hey. Check out this laundry. In the laundry room. Waiting to be laundered.”
Jules: “Whatcha doing, kitty?”
Algie: “Something I’ve never done. In. My. Entire. Life. Hmm-hmm-hmmm…”
Jules: “KITTY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?”
• One week later-
Algie: “Oh look what I did here. On the floor. Next to my empty box.”
Jules: “What is WRONG with you, cat? That’s the FOURTH TIME!”
Algie: “Look. I said I was sorry about that basket.”
• Vet’s office
Vet: “Yeah. He’s got diabetes.”
Jules: “How’d he get that?!”
Vet: “Well, larger cats tend to develop…”
Algie: “HEY MAN, MY BREED IS BIG-BONED.”
Vet: “It’s from the steroid shots we’ve been using to keep his IBD under control.”
Jules: “Oh, fantastic. So, we treat his IBD, he dies of diabetes. We treat his diabetes, he dies of IBD. right?”
Vet: “Well, instead of steroid shots we’ll just increase his pills. And give him insulin. And test him in two weeks. And adjust accordingly.”
Jules looks at Algie. Algie looks at Jules.
Jules: “And…how much will this cost?”
Algie: “A MILLION dollars! Bwah-ha-ha-ha.”
Jules: “Cat, did you pay attention at all to the part where I LOST MY JOB? What am I going to do with you?”
Algie: “I love you.”
Jules: “I know. I love you, too.”
Ka-ching!
Vet’s Office, two weeks later
Al’s been at the office for 12 hours. Unbeknownst to the staff, Algie’s single-most life-long horror is people touching his feet. Unbeknownst to us, they touched his feet ALL DAY.
Jules: “Hey, kitty, how are you?”
Algie: “SHE. STABBED. MY FEET.”
Vet: “So, his results are… not entirely convincing. He was REALLY stressed being here.”
Algie: “Hey! Vet! Wanna stab my feet? Okay. I call my lawyer. He’s the best lawyer in Miami. He’s such a good lawyer, by tomorrow morning, you gonna be working in Alaska. So dress warm.”
Vet: “How do you feel about testing him at home?”
Epilogue
Did you know the only other place to test cats is THEIR EARS? And that I’ve never used diabetes equipment before? Yeah. That went well.
But the good news is: he’s still with us, he’s getting better and his super-expensive insulin lasts six months. Algie’s last two years have been one long series of small blessings. And I’ll take those wherever I can find them.
