Is There Any Worse Feeling Than The Betrayal Of Taking Your Pet To The Vet?
If you have the misfortune of following me on Instagram or Twitter, you’ll know I officially became a cat lady this past weekend when I adopted a three-year-old-ish Jersey vagabond named Spork.
Though I’d grown up with a cat (pour one out for Jetty Boy, RIP) I had the luxury of my parents handling all the real-life logistics.. Besides litter box duty I just got to enjoy chillin’ with the ‘lil dude.
Now, nearly 15 years later with Spork, every aspect of his care falls on me. I take that on with joy because I already love the fella.. but maaaan, I was not prepared for betraying him this afternoon with a trip to the vet.
At the shelter on Sunday he’d been terrified & would barely let me touch him, and seeing the volunteer place him into the crate so I could bring him forever-home brought tears to my eyes because I could see how frozen & scared he was.
Putting him back in the crate this afternoon was even worse. He splayed out like a starfish trying to resist & his little paws were shaking (and so were my own hands). Ever the negative bleeding heart, all I could think was that he felt I was going to take him back and abandon him. You're as helpless as your pet in these situations...
“Buddy, I promise this is just because you are compulsively licking your balls and asshole 24/7. You’re still coming home with me again, I swear!”
I tried my best to explain but he cowered with wide eyes & cried.
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On the way into Manhattan our cab got cut off and screeched to a halt, kids who just got out of school for the day were screeching on the sidewalks for no reason (as kids are wont to do), horns honked, construction rumbled… I pleaded with him…
“Spork, please forgive me. I’ll do anything.. You can punch me right in my stupid dum dum face. You can doxx my address on Twitter.”
The vibe continued its downward spiral when we arrived and they put a thermometer in his butt without so much as offering him a nice meal or movie first.
"Pal, I swear to God I'm leaving everything to you in my will. And steak for dinner tonight. I am so sorry."
But in the end I’m glad I put him through it, because at the vet it turned out he has worms in his butt AND a hematoma on his balls. Hope I’m not violating HIPAA laws here but suffice to say,, Spork’s genitals are an absolute mess (again, he's originally from New Jersey where that's just a thing for humans & animals alike).
Thankfully the wonderful folks at the ASPCA provided me with a voucher that covered his medicine & checkup, and we’ll have him at 100% in no time. Well worth the anxiety & pain of feeling like a bad cat mom.
As I write this we've just arrived back home and I can breathe a little easier knowing the worst is over. Well, except that I haven’t told him he’ll be in the cone zone for a few days yet to keep him off 'dem balls.
But I'm sure anyone with a pet knows this drill. One of the soul crushing things about having a sick pet has to be that you can't tell them why what's happening is happening. That you're not torturing them, you're doing tough stuff out of love for their own good.. I can only imagine how people with really sick pets feel. Sending good vibes your way.. whatever you're doing is for the best.
Right now Spork's under the bed pissed at both me & the cone, but I'll be back after radio tonight (no free ads but special guest, comedian Graham Kay tonight from 6 - 7pm ET on ch85, SiriusXM) and will stay in so we can watch Aristocats on Disney+. Offer still stands to let him punch me in the face, but hopefully he's feeling more of this type 'o way:
