A few days after Yul spent a fur-raising Saturday nearly forgotten in a cage at the vet’s, he came down with a miserable cold. A hospital-induced infection, perhaps? For weeks, he’s been getting squirts of an antibiotic called Clindamycin so he won’t develop pneumonia.
Honestly, that fraidy-cat will do anything to avoid getting his teeth cleaned.
Since Yul utterly refused to sneeze into his elbow, he spewed spitty kitty germs everywhere. Now I’ve got the cold. My nose has turned into a paperweight. I’m typing this with my mouth open, determined to do something constructive. I will not lie around like a wimp on Karen’s bed, under cozy afghans with the humidifier running, looking for sympathy – like Yul did. He’s milked his sniffles for all they’re worth. He doesn’t even put up a fight over taking his medicine.
Maybe because he’s hooked!
Now I’ve got my own foul-tasting bottle of “Clind,” as the vet affectionately calls it, and I’m worried. Just a few squirts of it have given me the squirts. It tastes terrible and I hate it – so far. I want to get clean and sober again before it’s too late, so I’m patiently waiting for Karen to leave the evil stuff on the counter so I can push the bottle down the garbage disposal.
We at Cats Working have a policy of taking drugs only under protest, unless you’re talking about a score of prime catnip. But I found a blog called Mattress Police where the guy may have a certified kitty junkie on his hands. He’s got a great sense of humor, so let me spread the germs…oops!…the joy. Now he’s got me wondering if I’ll be able to kick my Clind habit when I can breathe again.
I think my cat may be on drugs. That’s not an expression, like “What has gotten into that cat? It’s acting like it’s on drugs.” I mean, it started out that way, but at this point I seriously think my cat may be abusing a controlled substance. Read the rest here.