On Wednesday night we took The Wuz to the vet because she is long overdue for vaccinations and I wanted some advice on how to overcome Newtown’s notorious flea problem.
It was never going to be fun, The Wuz hates traveling in cars and cried the whole way there and no amount of Dark Crystal fandom from the receptionist was going to persuade her everything was ok (The Wuz’s “official” name is Fizzgig).
She sneezed on the vet, she ran away from the vet, she didn’t want to get weighed, she had two needles, a flea tablet and a worm table and she was pissed.
Thursday was the first day in a long time I didn’t trip over her on my way to the bathroom, which I thought was strange and when she eventually walked down the hallway, it was clear something was really wrong. She was walking like she was drunk and her eyes couldn’t focus and when I picked her up she meowed like she was in pain and scared.
Having never seen her sick, I didn’t know what my response would be. Now I do: I crawled into bed and cried.
Thankfully, B was there and took charge. This is a man who is mildly allergic to cats and lives with one who frequently sneezes on him, yet who has taken to her with great gusto. This is a man who frequently works with her sitting on his lap, or creepily watching him from her perch, the man who I overheard calling her ‘sweetheart’ one night recently as he tried to shoo her back in out backyard.
He took her to the vets and they gave her an injection to get her temperature down and kept her for observation. He rang at lunch time to check on her. He came with me last night to pick her up and give me moral support while the vet talked about what a bad patient Wuz was.
Then we took her home and gave her lots of hugs and kisses and she seems well on her way back to normal Wuzness.
We love you, Wuzzy!