Friday, February 24, 2012
Do you ever have those moments where you’re like, “Really? I’m the kind of person who does that now?”
We have two much loved cats, Phinneas and Phillipa. They are of the ‘classic cat’ persuasion meaning that they are essentially decor that sits around and judges you. A while ago Phillipa started to develop less than desirable litter box behaviors. We tried everything we could think of to make the litter boxes more accommodating but nothing seemed to help.
Phillipa’s a 17.5 lb lump of cat who does stuff like eat string so it seemed entirely plausible that her litter box behavior was linked to some significant medical issue that afflicts fat cats who routinely make dumb string-based eating decisions. I’d been reluctant to take her to the vet because I thought we’d get sad news and I guess subconsciously I was trying to avoid dealing with that.
Around about the time M interrupted circle time to inform her entire pre-school class that “Fipilla poops on the floor ALL THE TIME!” I decided I really had to bite the bullet and take the resident floor pooper to the vet.
Most pharmacies, it turns out, are perfectly happy to fill cat sized prescriptions for antidepressants and pilling a cat once a day is infinitely preferable to routinely cleaning cat poop off the carpet. (Unless of course you’re the cat.) So we’re going to give the Prozac a shot.
But it’s definitely a “Really?!” moment. Because really?! We do cat psychiatric care now? Are we going to, like, Feng Shui their cat toys and hire a feline personal chef too? It kind of seems like that stuff comes next…