Veterinary Emergency
Taking my cat to the Vet-ER
Chilly Saturday in December. Not bad really, no snow and decent enough to walk around outside. Cozy enough to read and relax inside. All good except the cat is hiding herself under the couch. She’ll sometimes do this when scared but not all day. Not unless she’s sick. I hope she’s not sick. Hope she’s just in a mood.
Around 3PM she comes out for a drink and a snack. This is a good sign I think and a chance to pick her up and check her out. I’m carrying her to the kitchen when she starts leaking. Urine is what I think at first. Caught by fear she is releasing her bladder. It’s happened before, will happen again, but not today. Today it is a thick pus containing indistinct chunks and blood. It smells awful and rotten. It feel slimy like mucus and has congealed chunks that spur a reflexive horror when I see them. I place the cat in the kitchen and close the accordion door that’s probably against fire codes.
The veterinarian. That’s who I need. They can fix her. Late on a Saturday my normal vet is closed. So is the back up. I find one that is open but they close in an hour and have no appointments until Monday morning. I’m given the number to an emergency vet on Long Island. They never close and no appointments are needed. Just show up, sick animal in hand, and they will handle everything.
My parents live near by and I enlist their help. In ten minutes we’re in the car heading south then east. Mom’s driving, dad’s riding shotgun, and I’m in the back with the sick cat in her kennel.
The place is just a nondescript building in an commercial park, distinguished by being the only building with lights on a Saturday night. The staff are pleasant in the same way all hospital staff are. The place feels like a high end hospital for people. Clean and well lit it offers sterile comfort while waiting for the vet. In these situations it is a good trick to go into a trance. Which is what I do and only wake when I hear my name called.
The doctor is tall, young, and agreeably pretty. Her long blond hair is pulled back into a tight bun. I have the image of her as an undergrad athlete before the serious work of studying animal medicine began. She confirms the very obvious infection. It’s not too bad but needs sedation and some deeper cleaning. Unlike human medicine she quotes me a price first. High but not as high as I expected. I agree and she leaves to get to work fixing my cat. The nice receptionist advises that it will be an hour or two and we might want to go out for some dinner while we wait. That’s what we decide to do.
Sitting down at Fanatico Italian Bistro, A strip mall restaurant next to an H Mart that I didn’t expect to see here on Long Island. I begin to feel some relief. We order pasta dishes. I eat all that my anxiety will allow. We talk about nothing in particular. Some family gossip and the approaching holidays. Soon dinner is over and the cat is ready to go home. We pick her up and I head home with some medicine and after care instructions.
Finally back home and the apartment smells of the rotten pus that has now dried to the kitchen tiles. The night ends with me scrubbing and cleaning up the aftermath. The cat must wear a collar to prevent licking the wound. Asa bonus it prevents her from going back under the couch.