I Love Lucy - April 9, 2017
My goodness, where are the emergency lights and siren for the van?!
Our little cat Lucy threw up a little bit of fluid, which indicated she hadn’t eaten any breakfast. Laur yells, “She’s not eating. We’ve got to get her some canned cat food right now!” OK, maybe he wasn’t quite that frantic, but it sure seemed like it
Yes, we are becoming those old people who in their dotage, are doting on a cat. I have seen this behaviour before. An older man in the building where the office I worked at was located, would stand at the stairway window and watch pigeons building nests. I asked him if he had any grandkids. He said, “Not yet…” with a faraway look in his eye.
(OK, we do have a grandkid, but Emma at age almost-seven is practically an adult. It’s at the point now that if there is a need for cell or computer help, we’ll be going to her – not the other way around.)
As you know, I love cats. I used to run a cat adoption centre in Sudbury, along with other feline-loving folks. But when we moved to St. Catharines, I knew I couldn’t have a cat any more. We spend half our year in Green Valley, Arizona. Cats do not like to travel – especially in cargo, and even then, our trailer is in the pet-free section of the park. And trust me, you cannot move our trailer, unless it’s piece by piece. (I joke, Laur. I know the trailer is in great shape. But you will agree, it’s not movable.)
So how did we end up with a cat? The usual way, our kids found a stray that they cannot keep. Their “own” cat Charlie – a feralish fellow they found in S. Korea – simply cannot abide having another cat in their apartment in Toronto. He pulls out his fur by the truckload and just cannot relax, lest Lucy move and he not know about it.
We were happy to catsit Lucy and Charlie while their cat guardians had a holiday – and darned if we didn’t fall in love with Lucy. Lucy is a perfect companion for me. She sits beside me on the couch while I type or read – and she loves being petted or at least allowed to press her back into the side of my leg. That’s it. That’s all she asks for.
Even Laurence is taken with her. Says he, “She has a unique meow.” Um, I cannot find anything unique about Lucy at all, except that we now consider her “our” cat. And since she is now our cat, we have to take her to “our” vet for a check-up. Only one problem. Our vet is in Chelmsford, Ontario – about 20 km north of Sudbury. A bit of a trip to do in an afternoon.
I asked around about local vets. As is the situation in most communities, there were the horror stories. One vet had been physically abusive to his patients; another veterinary clinic overcharged to the point that they should have had valet service.
Lucy needed dental work, we knew. In fact, our Toronto kids had taken her to a vet in Hogtown and were quoted $2,000 to get a few teeth pulled, and the remaining ones cleaned. Good heavens, it would be cheaper to bring Lucy to Mexico with us when we get our teeth done there. Ah but, we can’t bring her to AZ.
One vet, Dr. T., came highly recommended by a number of people. She was only a 20-minute drive away, which sure beats 6 hours (Sudbury) or 6 days (Mexico.) We booked an appointment, and off we went – Laurence, Lucy and me. In my years of cat rescue in Sudbury, I have easily transported 1,000 kitties in total. Likely more. And when they meowed, I’d just pretend they were singing and sing along with them. Lucy meowed, and Laurence and I turned to jelly. “Don’t worry, Lucy. It’s OK. Not much farther.” My human kids didn’t get that kind of reassurance.
Into the waiting room of the veterinary clinic. If I hadn’t been stressed out – because I did not know what to expect from this vet – I would have found the situation quite humorous. It is the tiniest waiting room ever, and populating it (along with their caregivers) were two rats, a gecko, an enormously fluffy cat, an extremely small dog, and a dog the size of an ox. Plus, there were three reception folks at the desk and various vet techs going to and from the front desk to the clinic rooms. I had this “what could possibly go wrong?” feeling in my gut.
Finally (and it was only a 15 minute wait) – it was our turn. We were greeted by this lovely woman who put me in mind of a 1960s Californian. Blonde, calm, friendly. “Hello, I’m Rachel” she said, and reached out her hand to shake ours. We let Lucy out of her cage and Lucy – who is very skittish with newcomers – just hung out on the table and enjoyed getting a massage from Dr. T. Eventually Lucy let the vet examine her mouth – we’ve never been able to get a good look into it – and the vet confirmed that she did need some surgery.
I asked for an estimate, and held my breath. I have a “herd health” mentality, or did. The least amount of money for the maximum amount of good. For $2,000 I could have spayed or neutered 20 shelter cats. And she smiled and said, “It shouldn’t be more than $300.00.” I was so happy, I could have kissed her. As it was, I asked permission to hug her, and she kindly let me.
Lucy is booked for surgery in late April in St. Catharines. No barreling off to Sudbury, or flying down to AZ for our little PK – Preacher’s Kat. What am I talking about, you ask? Well, Laur has booked our tickets to Arizona for November, and they don’t include a space for a “cargo cat.” A pastor and family at a local Mennonite church have offered to love Lucy for the six months we are cat-restricted.
They are modern Mennonites so I don’t have to worry about fashioning a bonnet for Lucy. Menno baptism is full immersion – I’ll leave that up to her winter family.
Our little cat Lucy threw up a little bit of fluid, which indicated she hadn’t eaten any breakfast. Laur yells, “She’s not eating. We’ve got to get her some canned cat food right now!” OK, maybe he wasn’t quite that frantic, but it sure seemed like it
Yes, we are becoming those old people who in their dotage, are doting on a cat. I have seen this behaviour before. An older man in the building where the office I worked at was located, would stand at the stairway window and watch pigeons building nests. I asked him if he had any grandkids. He said, “Not yet…” with a faraway look in his eye.
(OK, we do have a grandkid, but Emma at age almost-seven is practically an adult. It’s at the point now that if there is a need for cell or computer help, we’ll be going to her – not the other way around.)
As you know, I love cats. I used to run a cat adoption centre in Sudbury, along with other feline-loving folks. But when we moved to St. Catharines, I knew I couldn’t have a cat any more. We spend half our year in Green Valley, Arizona. Cats do not like to travel – especially in cargo, and even then, our trailer is in the pet-free section of the park. And trust me, you cannot move our trailer, unless it’s piece by piece. (I joke, Laur. I know the trailer is in great shape. But you will agree, it’s not movable.)
So how did we end up with a cat? The usual way, our kids found a stray that they cannot keep. Their “own” cat Charlie – a feralish fellow they found in S. Korea – simply cannot abide having another cat in their apartment in Toronto. He pulls out his fur by the truckload and just cannot relax, lest Lucy move and he not know about it.
We were happy to catsit Lucy and Charlie while their cat guardians had a holiday – and darned if we didn’t fall in love with Lucy. Lucy is a perfect companion for me. She sits beside me on the couch while I type or read – and she loves being petted or at least allowed to press her back into the side of my leg. That’s it. That’s all she asks for.
Even Laurence is taken with her. Says he, “She has a unique meow.” Um, I cannot find anything unique about Lucy at all, except that we now consider her “our” cat. And since she is now our cat, we have to take her to “our” vet for a check-up. Only one problem. Our vet is in Chelmsford, Ontario – about 20 km north of Sudbury. A bit of a trip to do in an afternoon.
I asked around about local vets. As is the situation in most communities, there were the horror stories. One vet had been physically abusive to his patients; another veterinary clinic overcharged to the point that they should have had valet service.
Lucy needed dental work, we knew. In fact, our Toronto kids had taken her to a vet in Hogtown and were quoted $2,000 to get a few teeth pulled, and the remaining ones cleaned. Good heavens, it would be cheaper to bring Lucy to Mexico with us when we get our teeth done there. Ah but, we can’t bring her to AZ.
One vet, Dr. T., came highly recommended by a number of people. She was only a 20-minute drive away, which sure beats 6 hours (Sudbury) or 6 days (Mexico.) We booked an appointment, and off we went – Laurence, Lucy and me. In my years of cat rescue in Sudbury, I have easily transported 1,000 kitties in total. Likely more. And when they meowed, I’d just pretend they were singing and sing along with them. Lucy meowed, and Laurence and I turned to jelly. “Don’t worry, Lucy. It’s OK. Not much farther.” My human kids didn’t get that kind of reassurance.
Into the waiting room of the veterinary clinic. If I hadn’t been stressed out – because I did not know what to expect from this vet – I would have found the situation quite humorous. It is the tiniest waiting room ever, and populating it (along with their caregivers) were two rats, a gecko, an enormously fluffy cat, an extremely small dog, and a dog the size of an ox. Plus, there were three reception folks at the desk and various vet techs going to and from the front desk to the clinic rooms. I had this “what could possibly go wrong?” feeling in my gut.
Finally (and it was only a 15 minute wait) – it was our turn. We were greeted by this lovely woman who put me in mind of a 1960s Californian. Blonde, calm, friendly. “Hello, I’m Rachel” she said, and reached out her hand to shake ours. We let Lucy out of her cage and Lucy – who is very skittish with newcomers – just hung out on the table and enjoyed getting a massage from Dr. T. Eventually Lucy let the vet examine her mouth – we’ve never been able to get a good look into it – and the vet confirmed that she did need some surgery.
I asked for an estimate, and held my breath. I have a “herd health” mentality, or did. The least amount of money for the maximum amount of good. For $2,000 I could have spayed or neutered 20 shelter cats. And she smiled and said, “It shouldn’t be more than $300.00.” I was so happy, I could have kissed her. As it was, I asked permission to hug her, and she kindly let me.
Lucy is booked for surgery in late April in St. Catharines. No barreling off to Sudbury, or flying down to AZ for our little PK – Preacher’s Kat. What am I talking about, you ask? Well, Laur has booked our tickets to Arizona for November, and they don’t include a space for a “cargo cat.” A pastor and family at a local Mennonite church have offered to love Lucy for the six months we are cat-restricted.
They are modern Mennonites so I don’t have to worry about fashioning a bonnet for Lucy. Menno baptism is full immersion – I’ll leave that up to her winter family.