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Jun. 20th, 2007 06:07 pmThere's been a lot of stuff going on. I suppose I ought to keep up with past tradition and write about it.
I took Lazslo, our elderly black tom-cat, to the vet for a follow-up this week. He came grumpily along with me to work on Monday morning in his carrier. I had to use a couple of treats to cajole his front end in, at which point I pushed his rear end in after it, 'cause it became apparent it wasn't going in by itself. He repayed the betrayal by complaining loudly about the indignity of it all through the whole ride down, though he wasn't so put out that he didn't rub the side of his head along the fingers that I was sticking through the door of the crate in an attempt to be comforting.
Everyone who came by the help desk room seemed to like him. Our team lead joked that we have a mascot now. I said that that would be a good fit; Lazslo has the appropriate personality for dealing with end users.
I drove out to the veterinary clinic where the ultrasound machine was during my lunch hour. There was a short wait to get into the exam room, and then a nurse brought the two of us in. She did a quick physical. Lazslo did not appreciate having his temperature taken, though that probably had a lot to do with the method employed. She also provided him a little bowl of water since he hadn't drunk anything since leaving the house. Following that, the doctor came in and, after a little more time poking and prodding, took him into the back of the clinic. Amusingly enough, when she showed me his workup report later on, all his vitals looked fairly like what you'd see on a human's chart except for his respiration which was listed as 'purring'.
So I sat and watched other pet owners take their various charges in and out of the waiting room for about forty-five minutes. The receptionist told me that I was only the second cat they'd seen all day, and indeed, all I saw during my time spent lightly snoozing in the lobby were canines.
I smiled at a limping Beagle/Pug mix (would that be a buggle? Did he kill the radio star?), oohed and ahhed over a beautiful black lab who was getting chemotherapy, drooled over a beautiful German Shepherd Dog with no ailment that I could readily discern, and giggled as I watched a plain old mutt who was happily bumping his plastic neck cone into everything in the room.
And it wasn't just the mutt who was happy. Every dog in the place just seemed so happy with life, and despite the reason for my visit and the worries weighing on me, there was a great big smile on my face as I saw how purely, simply happy the dogs all were just to be somewhere new with their big two-legged friends. Seeing that unadulterated happiness was inspiring. No matter what else was going on in their lives; no matter if they had a broken leg, shaved spots and sickness from cancer treatment, or a monstrous thing strapped around their neck, as long as the person they cared about was there with them, life was not just good; it literally couldn't be better for them. Dogs don't mope around thinking about how things are decent right now but with just a little change they could be so much better. No, they're just truly, unashamedly, god-damn happy to be alive, and to be loved. We could all learn something from that.
So. News from the vet. She was really wonderful. She managed to be supportive at the same time as she was honest and clinical. I like her a lot. I wish I could remember her name. I guess I was a little distracted.
Lazslo has cancer. Specifically, he has cancer of the liver which has possibly spread to his spleen and intestines. She wasn't clear on how long he has left, probably because it can be fairly random. However, neither of the two treatment options, surgery and chemotherapy, have a high likelihood of making a big difference for him, nor would they be easy on him at his age.
After all, despite the joke Andrea always introduces him with about the aging kitten calendar that must exist somewhere to explain how young and healthy he always seems to be, Lazslo is an old cat. We have to think about how much longer he'd really have anyway. He's sixteen years old; that's a pretty long life.
So we'll make him comfortable. We'll pet him and snuggle him and feed him treats and take lots of pictures. And what will happen, will happen. So turns the wheel.
I took Lazslo, our elderly black tom-cat, to the vet for a follow-up this week. He came grumpily along with me to work on Monday morning in his carrier. I had to use a couple of treats to cajole his front end in, at which point I pushed his rear end in after it, 'cause it became apparent it wasn't going in by itself. He repayed the betrayal by complaining loudly about the indignity of it all through the whole ride down, though he wasn't so put out that he didn't rub the side of his head along the fingers that I was sticking through the door of the crate in an attempt to be comforting.
Everyone who came by the help desk room seemed to like him. Our team lead joked that we have a mascot now. I said that that would be a good fit; Lazslo has the appropriate personality for dealing with end users.
I drove out to the veterinary clinic where the ultrasound machine was during my lunch hour. There was a short wait to get into the exam room, and then a nurse brought the two of us in. She did a quick physical. Lazslo did not appreciate having his temperature taken, though that probably had a lot to do with the method employed. She also provided him a little bowl of water since he hadn't drunk anything since leaving the house. Following that, the doctor came in and, after a little more time poking and prodding, took him into the back of the clinic. Amusingly enough, when she showed me his workup report later on, all his vitals looked fairly like what you'd see on a human's chart except for his respiration which was listed as 'purring'.
So I sat and watched other pet owners take their various charges in and out of the waiting room for about forty-five minutes. The receptionist told me that I was only the second cat they'd seen all day, and indeed, all I saw during my time spent lightly snoozing in the lobby were canines.
I smiled at a limping Beagle/Pug mix (would that be a buggle? Did he kill the radio star?), oohed and ahhed over a beautiful black lab who was getting chemotherapy, drooled over a beautiful German Shepherd Dog with no ailment that I could readily discern, and giggled as I watched a plain old mutt who was happily bumping his plastic neck cone into everything in the room.
And it wasn't just the mutt who was happy. Every dog in the place just seemed so happy with life, and despite the reason for my visit and the worries weighing on me, there was a great big smile on my face as I saw how purely, simply happy the dogs all were just to be somewhere new with their big two-legged friends. Seeing that unadulterated happiness was inspiring. No matter what else was going on in their lives; no matter if they had a broken leg, shaved spots and sickness from cancer treatment, or a monstrous thing strapped around their neck, as long as the person they cared about was there with them, life was not just good; it literally couldn't be better for them. Dogs don't mope around thinking about how things are decent right now but with just a little change they could be so much better. No, they're just truly, unashamedly, god-damn happy to be alive, and to be loved. We could all learn something from that.
So. News from the vet. She was really wonderful. She managed to be supportive at the same time as she was honest and clinical. I like her a lot. I wish I could remember her name. I guess I was a little distracted.
Lazslo has cancer. Specifically, he has cancer of the liver which has possibly spread to his spleen and intestines. She wasn't clear on how long he has left, probably because it can be fairly random. However, neither of the two treatment options, surgery and chemotherapy, have a high likelihood of making a big difference for him, nor would they be easy on him at his age.
After all, despite the joke Andrea always introduces him with about the aging kitten calendar that must exist somewhere to explain how young and healthy he always seems to be, Lazslo is an old cat. We have to think about how much longer he'd really have anyway. He's sixteen years old; that's a pretty long life.
So we'll make him comfortable. We'll pet him and snuggle him and feed him treats and take lots of pictures. And what will happen, will happen. So turns the wheel.
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