Tag Archives: Miss Moneypenny

The vet’s office is a zoo. Almost literally.

1 Sep
I said STOP WEIGHING ME.

I said: STOP. WEIGHING. ME.

Five months ago, I was given a lecture when I took Miss Moneypenny to the vet. “She’s gained two pounds since you owned her. Careful with the treats. Her ideal weight is 10 lbs.” So when we got home, I scaled back her treats. And maybe her dry food a bit. And I may have made a few jokes in her presence about kitty cat fat camp.

In any case, when we went back to the vet a month later, they said, “Yeesh! She’s down to almost nine pounds. We better do a blood test.”

I tried to explain that her weight loss was deliberate, but they were hearing none of that. They did a blood test and called me two days later to say, “It’s as we suspected. Miss Moneypenny has a hyperactive-thyroid. It’s off the charts and you need to put her on medicine now or she’ll waste away.”

Here I thought I was the Jillian Michaels of feline fitness. So much for the Biggest Mewser™ business plan I’d started writing.

I have enough medical fights in my life with my GI Specialist, who is always trying to guilt me into taking medicines I fundamentally disagree with, so when it came to Miss Moneypenny, my response was, “Fine. What do I need to give her?”

Long story short, thirty days after beginning her medicine, we were back at the vet for a follow-up blood test to see if the medicine was effective. I made the mistake of showing up at 6pm on a week night, which is apparently when *everybody* takes their sick pets in. I feel like I can *almost* refer to the waiting room as “literally a zoo” and not be completely deserving of a grammar infraction.

The cast of characters featured a French Bulldog named Lily, a Whippit, a Great Dane named Annie, three other random dogs (beagle, boxer and chihuahua) and a few cats in carriers. Miss Moneypenny hates being in her carrier, which – considering it looks like a gym bag that a mobster might toss in the river – is not completely without reason – but she was surprisingly calm in the midst of the chaos. After screaming at everyone to announce her arrival, she kicked back and took a bath.

Hint: One of these is a falabella.

Hint: One of these is a falabella.

While we were sitting there, a woman showed up with a cute puppy named Teddy, who was to Golden Retrievers what a Falabella is to regular horses. (I’ve included a photo in case you’re too lazy to Google that reference.)

The dog was adorable, but wildly out of control. When his other mother showed up, he was so excited, I watched him scale her like a mountain goat. She was seated in a chair and Teddy was standing on her shoulders, totally wrapped around her  head.

As we waited (and waited) for Miss Moneypenny to get called back, I had ample time to observe Teddy and his lack of discipline. He was on a retractable leash and his owners let it out with abandon. They were lost in conversation so they didn’t notice when Teddy began chewing on a dog wearing a cone, or when he tried to butt-sniff a dog who clearly wasn’t feeling well.

Everyone in the waiting room began exchanging glances. Teddy was undeniably adorable, but his clueless owners were allowing him to be a bit of a nuisance. About this time, Teddy walked to the center of the waiting room and proceeded to take a leak that would do Austin Powers proud. The puddle was not insignificant.

Amazingly, his owners didn’t notice this, despite my repeatedly looking at Teddy, then looking at them. Everyone else in the waiting room was doing the same as we all wondered if we should say something or sit back and see how long it would take them to notice. We silently agreed to go the latter route until a few minutes later, when the pee was flowing along the grout between tiles and was about to soak the bag of one of the women.

“Excuse me,” another (nicer) woman called to her, “You might want to move your bag.”

At this, Teddy’s owner looked down, saw the approaching pee and grabbed her bag up with disgust. Then she traced the stream back to its pool of origin, which by this time had little Teddy paw prints in and out of it. If it were a crime scene, it would be an open-and-shut case.

And yet, she turned to her partner and said, “Oh my God – there’s a whole puddle of pee on the floor. Someone’s dog peed there!”

To which her partner asked, “Do you think it was Teddy?”

Without missing a beat, she said, “No – he went right before we got in the car.”

Let me point out – there were no other dogs remotely near the puddle and the only wet foot prints tracked directly to their dog. Everyone in the waiting room again exchanged wordless glances that – had we been playing charades – would’ve prompted a win for the phrase, “You must be shitting me.”

After sitting there for a few minutes, Teddy’s owner finally said – loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Well, I guess if the owner isn’t going to clean it up, I will.” And she huffed over to the desk and asked for paper towels. Um, thanks for the favor?

Let’s just hope she decides not to ever have a baby. Ever.

…

Oh – and in case you’re curious, Miss Moneypenny weighed in at 11.8 pounds, which apparently is now great. Whatever.

 

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My cat is either sadistic or a neat freak.

19 Nov

I bought a new pair of slippers and although they’re super comfortable, they came with two ridiculously huge pompons on each one. Naturally I whipped out some scissors and cut them off.

They are about the same size as Miss Moneypenny’s toys, so I thought I’d toss one to her to bat around. She loved it and scampered through the house with it. A couple hours later when I was putting away laundry, I noticed that the ball was sitting in the bottom of her water bowl, drenched.

“Hmm,” I thought, “She must’ve accidentally swatted it in here.”

I retrieved it and set it in my bathtub to dry.

Tonight when drawing a bath, I reencountered the fuzzball and tossed it out for her to play with. Again, she knocked it and took off chasing it out of the room. A few minutes later, when I was sitting in the bathtub, she returned, carrying the ball in her mouth.

Without even looking at me, she walked in and dropped it in her waterbowl. Then she batted it around until it was soaking and – as if she were bobbing for apples – reached in and picked up, then left the bathroom with it.

About fifteen minutes later, she came back, again carrying the ball in her mouth, and dropped it on my iPhone (which was sitting on the floor). Then she left.

So clearly her dunking is deliberate. If I imagine it’s a mouse she’s playing with, I have two possible explanations for what she’s doing: Either she’s trying to drown it, or she wants to clean it off. I’m not sure which is better.

At least I don’t have this to deal with:

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In case you’re looking for extra work. Or a cat.

24 Oct
Unless you want this cat in a box to become a dick in a box, you better feed it.

Unless you want this cat in a box to become a dick in a box, you better feed it.

Alan and I are getting ready to venture to California for vacation. It’s the first time we will both have been out of town together, so we need to get a cat sitter for Miss Moneypenny. Sure, I have friends who would probably help me out, but I don’t want to saddle someone with kitty care for a full week, so I decided to bring in a professional.

Specifically, the professional is a woman named Mike who lives a mile from me and seems to love cats. (Actually, I wrote that sentence before she came over for the intro visit, so I was making a few assumptions, not least of which was that she loves cats. And also that Mike is a woman. As it turns out, Mike confessed to being somewhat allergic to cats, but I remain optimistic that Miss Moneypenny will charm her into some snuggles.)

So at this point, she has come and met Miss Moneypenny, and I think they’ll get along well enough. I mean, Miss Moneypenny is a cat and Mike will be feeding her. For most cats, that’s enough, right? Cross your fingers, because I don’t want to come home to any revenge pee.

Anyway, I jotted down some notes from my conversation with Mike, in case YOU ever want to catsit Miss Moneypenny. Here are the highlights:

So this is Miss Moneypenny. But you can call her whatever you want because she doesn’t really respond to her name. 

She likes to play with this rainbow toy, and this feather toy – but don’t tug too hard when she has it in her mouth because I’m scared you might rip her tooth out. 

Here’s her litterbox. I scoop it in the morning and the evening so that my place doesn’t smell like cat shit. And please go straight to the garbage chute down the hall and throw it away so it doesn’t sit in my trash can.  Also – this Swiffer duster is so you can sweep any random dots of litter back to the box so it doesn’t get tracked around my place.

And here’s her food area. She gets this hairball control dry food, with a bit of this protein kibble sprinkled on top for kicks. And this dish here is for her wet food, which she gets twice each day. A few things on that – and this probably sounds OCD, but it’s why I’m paying you instead of just leaving a pile of food out for her…

Please recover the tin of food using this piece of saranwrap and rubberband between meals rather than using a new piece of saranwrap each day. When you finish a tin, please rinse it out so I can recycle it. And you’ll need to add water to the food, stirring it until it’s the texture of runny refried beans. She likes it that way. Oh – and please only use THESE forks. I don’t like anything that touches human food to touch cat food. 

When you get here, she’ll probably be excited to see you, so if she runs toward my bedroom, it means she’s going to flop down on the rug and roll around so you can pet her.

And I forgot to tell you… she is very talkative, so be sure to ask her lots of questions. She’ll answer you, but her response always sounds like she’s saying, “No,” or, “Now,” so you’ll probably want to come up with questions that work with those responses. Unless you want to sound crazy. 

Image Source: https://i.chzbgr.com/maxW500/863968512/h1B9DBF01/

PS: When I just spell-checked this, here’s what WordPress accused me of misspelling: rubberband, refried, kibble and chute. I’ll admit, chute made my scratch my head. But then I remembered “Chutes & Ladders” and knew that I was still smarter than my computer. For now.

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I thought people were supposed to LOOK like their pets.

8 Sep

Image Source: http://www.hilarioustime.com/images/04/Well-butter-my-butt-funny-cat-with-bread-on-its-head.jpg

Let’s start with a list:

  1. Gratitude.
  2. Condolences.
  3. Feelings.
  4. Shipments.

That’s pretty much the exhaustive list of things I believe should be expressed.

However, now that I’m the proud owner of a cat rescued from Methatopia, West Virginia, I’ve learned there’s something else that requires expressing: Anal Glands.

That’s right. I didn’t even know that was a THING.

Image Source: http://funnyfilez.funnypart.com/pictures/FunnyPart-com-r2d2_cat_home.jpgUntil one night when I was kicked back in my chair, reading, and Miss Moneypenny emerged from her litterbox. She strode confidently over to me, then sat down and proceeded to pull herself around on the floor using only her front legs, moving in an oddly fluid way, as if she were channeling the ghost of R2D2.

Obviously I had to burn and replace the carpet. But before doing so, I googled, “Cat Dragging Butt.” And because Google knows me, instead of pulling up helpful medical references, the first results displayed animated gifs. Which, admittedly, slayed me. But did nothing to help me diagnose Miss Moneypenny’s malady.

My next query was more fruitful, and was confirmed by my sister, who ALSO just adopted a vocal cat with butt issues. Apparently we’re scat magnets. “Sounds like her anal glands need expressing,” Alicia wrote. She then sent me a how-to video. I gagged and called the vet.

When I arrived at the vet, it was after working hours, so the waiting room was full. I approached the receptionist and tried to be discreet. “I’m hoping there’s a vet tech who can look at my cat,” I said.

Before I could get any further, she said, “What’s her name? Your cat?”

Me: Miss Moneypenny.

Receptionist, loudly: Oh yeah – she’s the one who needs her ANAL GLANDS EXPRESSED, right?

Me, softly: I’m not sure. She’s just started scooting around on the floor a bit.

Receptionist, loudly: It sounds like her ANAL GLANDS. Let me see if I can get a Vet Tech out here to EXPRESS HER ANAL GLANDS.

Me: Um, thanks.

I took a seat, sheltering Miss Moneypenny from the prying eyes of other patients who all seemed to be there for non-embarrassing routine procedures, like teeth cleanings and rabies vaccinations.

A vet tech appeared shortly, and asked a few more questions. The unwitting audience of other pet owners started making the sign of the cross on their chests, praying that they never had to bring their animals in for ANAL GLAND EXPRESSION.

Meanwhile, Miss Moneypenny cowered in her vented duffel bag carrier, growling. I could hardly blame her, especially when the vet tech grabbed the duffel and said to me, “You wait here. She’s going to be very mad at us. Better that you’re not in there…”

The rest of the appointment was uneventful – for me. I don’t even want to know what happened in the back. From the howls, I think it’s safe to surmise that Miss Moneypenny was not a model patient.

Later that night, I chatted my sister.

Me: Good job with the long-distance diagnosis of my cat’s butt.

Alicia: Was it her glands?

Me: Yes. They said it’s common in dogs, but pretty rare in cats. It’s weird that we BOTH just adopted cats with this issue.

Alicia: Hmmmm…

Me: Unless this is cats’ version of a gluten allergy? Maybe it’s suddenly trendy?

Alicia: I guess we’re just early adopters.

Me: We should get out ahead of this wave and write a cookbook. PAYDAY!

…

Image Source: http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/125736/2175893/THE%20CAT%20COOK%20BOOK-1.jpgCOMING SOON: You’ll be able to purchase our Cookbook for Kitties, called, “EXPRESS YOURSELF: Healthy Meals for Happy Cats.” 

<–Not to be confused with THIS book, which seems to advocate COOKING cats. I guess we’re not the only trend-setters.

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I failed cat-anatomy.

19 Aug

Image Source: pithypants 2013

Look at this photo. Doesn’t Miss Moneypenny look like an octopus who lost three legs?

SHE TOTALLY DOES. 

If I had better Photoshop skills (or my sister on speed-dial) you would be looking at before  and after photos from the tragic accident that severed Miss Moneypenny’s other three legs.

Except you’d know that cats don’t really have eight legs.  While I do have a tragic story I could tell about smashing her in a window this week and thinking I’d accidentally maimed her, I’d rather focus on her other anatomical mystery.

Shortly after getting her, I was petting her and felt a weird bump on her stomach. I separated the skin and looked at it. It looked like a skin tag. “Alan,” I shouted. “Does this look like a nipple?”

Alan checked it out and rubbed around on her belly. “I don’t think so. It’s more like a wart or something.”

I agreed.

Fast forward a week to when I’m at the vet, having Miss Moneypenny’s West Virginian meth-addict smile inspected. “Listen, Doctor Storm,” I started, struggling to determine which was more ridiculous – calling a guy in his late 20s “doctor” or the fact that his last name made him sound like he came from a Spiderman movie. “While we’re here, can you look at Miss Moneypenny’s tummy? I think she has a skin tag or something there.”

He obliged, and asked me to show him what I was talking about. I felt around blindly until (finally!) my fingers located the little dot of braille. “Here it is!” I practically yelled, feeling triumphant.

He rolled her over and looked at it. Then looked at me. “That’s a nipple,” he said.

I was flustered. “Well, at first I thought it was a nipple, but then I couldn’t find any others, so I wasn’t sure WHAT it was. I mean – can you find any other nipples?”

He looked at me like I was an idiot, then proceeded to map out all of my cat’s nipples for me. At a certain point, I said, “Got it. I don’t need to see any more nipples, thanks.”

And that was the end of our first vet visit.

I’m going to take a vote: Is it more awkward to have a x-ray tech your own age administer a surprise enema, or have a doctor who is at least a decade your junior educate you on nipples?

Either way, I’m going to stay away from medical professionals for a while.

Meow.

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