Let's go to the doctor

I woke up with two sweet little kittens.  The dog was pretty quiet last night.  It made some noise after I got up, but I reminded myself "Hey, you're already up.  Shut up.  It could be a lot worse." 

I had a nice shower and God Time. 

The cats are all very healthy per the vet.  She did treat them for worms, which I suspected.  They don't have earmites, though, but fleas.  Easy enough to treat with Advantage.  Kitten blood test came back negative for cat AIDS.  Stool test came back negative for all bad things.  The big girls, however, have tapeworm (I knew, as I'd seen some traces), also easily fixed with Advantage. 

I was right, should have brought a kitten turd.  She'd love one next time (the vet).  Seems like an odd gift. 

All the cats loved the vet and were pretty well behaved.   We got free Kitten Advantage.  I also bought plenty for the girls. 

The kittens had "pretty bad" fleas.  Biscuit screamed when the vet held him down for a blood sample.  Poor Gravy got probed, I held him after, and got poop on my shirt.  Oh, well. 

I have a lot of reasons to wear cheap clothes.  I'll wash it out, if I can't, I'll toss it. 

Ron had a very bad night with neuropathy; which is absolutely related to the drinking.  We went to Walmart first this morning.  We came home and spent a couple of hours.  Ron got the appointment time mixed up, thought it was 3.  He told me to put the cats in the carriers at 2.  I did.  Then he got upset and said he meant "more like 2:30".  He had been drinking when we got home from Walmart and fell asleep with his phone off.  Then he didn't check his messages.

The appointment was at 2.  The office called and said not to come in, they had an emergency (something involving a dog, I'd guess, because of the barking).

Ron, in the meantime, thinks our appointment is 3.  Has told me so, as well.  Has called for a cab.  The guy who picked up clearly hated cats.  They always do when I'm traveling with a cat.

I couldn't fit the wheelchair in the trunk.  For some reason, it just didn't work.  I was ready to scream.  I had 4 cats screaming in their carriers, an aggravated cab driver, and Ron yelling.  I finally traded the wheelchair for the walker, which worked fine.  

You can imagine the scene when we showed up.  The vet was pretty pissed, so were the staff.  They were still very professional and nice to the cats. 

We all got to wait in an exam room for 2 hours.  4 cats and two humans.  

We had the visit/exam. 

The vet told us not to get any more cats.  I didn't want the last two, but I couldn't leave them to die. The shelters still have a pretty high kill rate.  Biscuit and Gravy are very bonded - it would be cruel to break them up. 

I don't feel bad about taking them; and what we paid for the exam, etc, they're certainly "ours" now.  They are 4 pounds, not 2.  They are about 4 months old, twice what I thought.  They purred at the vet right after she gave them shots, and let her sneak a cuddle. 

Torbie and Baby Girl were surprisingly good.  They just cringed a little at first, allowed petting, and  actually enjoyed the contact.  The vet kept talking about our nice cats. 

Yup, they're good babies. 

Happily, we had a much better trip home. 

It's just a little sad and frustrating for me: Ron caused this whole drama because he chose to drink and be irresponsible today.  He caused all today's physical pain because he won't stop drinking; and I've told him drinking aggravates neuropathy. 

I need a day off after my day off.  Tomorrow is truck day.