I’ve already told you about the hole in Oberon’s butt. Well, I had one interesting response about that, and guess who it was from? Dear brother Tony. Not surprising. His response was, and I quote, "Some things I just don’t need to know. Worms and Oberon." I laugh. I snicker. I chortle. I snort. Well, yeah, he’s probably right, but at the same time, I did provide a grossness warning, did I not? And it would have been thought that, if you thought you’d be grossed out, you’d skip it. That’s what grossness warnings are for, I would think.
But, as usual, I digress. I just had to laugh at the way Tony put that. Anyway, to the point of this tirade.
I took Oberon to the vet.
First thing you have to know. Almost all cats hate being put in cages. You know, to carry them places, like the vet. There were a couple of options involved in this whole process. Picture them with me, if you will.
I could walk to the vet’s, which really isn’t far away at all. It’s probably a 7 or 8 minute walk with just Fahim and I. If I walked there, I’d either have to:
- carry Oberon in his cage – and what with him being 15 pounds, is kinda awkward at best.
- walk Oberon there on a leash. He’s already wearing a halter cuz I had to put his tag with my phone number on him somehow. But seriously, walk him there? Are you kidding me?
- carry Oberon in my arms. Another joke. Oberon hates being picked up, hates being carried, and well, hates being carried. He squirms and fidgets and fights until he’s free again on solid ground.
The other option would be to take a trishaw. And again, I could either
- carry Oberon in my arms, only to have him fight and fidget and squirm to break free, especially with all that noise coming at us from all directions that would completely drive him to distraction and make him go crazy and want to escape even more, in which case he would and he would run and flee from me and the trishaw and wind up living on the streets.
- put him in a cage.
Guess which one I went with?
Yep, we went in a trishaw and Oberon in the cage. Fahim left to go grocery shopping while I took Obie to the vet.
See, I took Oberon to the vet not because his previous hole wasn’t healing properly – it was. In fact, it was healing very nicely, had closed up completely, and had a very nice scab formed with no signs of infection at all. There was still no fur growing around the wound, but that’s what animals do to fight infection. There was no cause for concern there at all.
But then I checked his butt. I do this, and no, I’m not sick, twisted, or demented. It’s my job to make sure my kitties are healthy, and so it’s also my job to check their wounds. And during a daily wound check, which, by the way, Oberon hates, I noticed that his bald patch had expanded and he’d uncovered another wound. Or maybe not wound, but an old scar. Anyway, I didn’t know what was going on except that he now had two spots, one right underneath the other, that looked like wounds, and dammit, we need to figure this out. So to the vet we go.
If you don’t have a cat, or if you’ve never tried to put a cat into a cage, you have no idea how much fun you’re missing out on.
With Tellulah, I first have to corner her in a closed room with the cage, and depending on how much she picks up on, that can be a challenge in and of itself. But here, there are a limited number of places to hide. Oberon, not so bad.
I pick him up and I try to stuff him in the cage. Only he’s pretty strong, so it’s not that easy, but eventually, I get the job done. Our trishaw driver arrives – Fahim called him and asked him to collect us – we climb in and we go.
Oberon, completely protected in the cage, looks around him somewhat in a state of alarm. Or extreme interest. He’s staring at everything. He’s looking at everything. His eyes look like they’re gonna pop out of his skull. He also looks calmy panicked. See, Oberon’s been in the cage often enough that he knows there’s a certain amount of protection while he’s in it.
We get to the vet and go in and sit down. The vet’s currently with a dog. Oh, and the vet doesn’t require appointments. He’s not busy enough to warrant it. See, only the foreigners and the rich bring their animals to the vet. Everyone else – are you kidding me? The vet takes about ten or fifteen minutes, and finally he’s done. I take Oberon to a table in the back and take Oberon out. But see, once he’s in the cage, he doesn’t want to come out. Seriously. I had to grab his harness and pull him out. Bodily. He seriously doesn’t like change, that boy.
I get him out and show him first the pimple on Oberon’s chin, then the holes on his butt. How do I know if the pimple on his chin isn’t related? It could be all worms or some other kind of parasite. I have no idea. Anyway, the vet is completely unconcerned with the pimple and turns to the butt. He examines, he pokes, he prods. He pokes and prods some more. Oberon is hating this whole thing. But so would you if someone tried poking and prodding your butt. He examines Oberon quite thoroughly and concludes that yep, the first hole was caused by a cat fight and the second one – the one that just showed up – is an old scar, also an old cat fight wound most likely, and Oberon probably licked them both furless because his new wound was bothering him, no other reason. But nothing to worry about and everything would be fine. No gland problems, nothing like that. Just an ordinary every day cat fight wound.
The vet was surprised that it was healing as well as it was, but still gave Oberon some antibiotics anyway just for good measure.
Stuffing Oberon back in was just as fun as the first time.
And all told, visit and antibiotics together, cost me 200 Rupees. Do the math, children. It’s close to $2 US. Wow. How expensive. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. I honestly don’t know how the guy makes a living. Both times I’ve been there, he wasn’t busy. But don’t tell him I said that. I don’t want him to raise his prices.
And the trishaw driver, waiting for me, takes us home. On the way, we pass Fahim, a mere twenty steps from home, fully weighed down with grocery bags.
Oh, and feeding Oberon antibiotics? Yeah, even more fun and entertainment. I have to give him two a day for five days, so that part isn’t that bad. And it was amoxicillin, a fairly standard broad usage antibiotic.
Here’s how ya have to do it. Or, rather, this is how I have to do it. Grab and hold Oberon between my legs – he’s pretty strong and can fight his way free otherwise if I just try to hold him in my arms or something silly like that. But clamped between my legs – not so easy. So I trap him between my legs, then with left hand, force his mouth open, then with right hand, toss the pill in as far back in his throat as I can, then shut his mouth quickly and hold it closed, then stroke his throat to promote swallowing.
Oberon still managed to cough it out. Drat. But by George, I got it in eventually.
