My Devil had Been Long Caged, he Came out Roaring

There’s only one place: the vet surgery. But, regretfully, it’s somewhere that Louis Catorze has to visit most months, whether he likes it or not.

It wasn’t always this way. Catorze used to happily guzzle Pill Pockets containing his steroid tablets, twice a day, at a total cost of £28 per month. But, since he inexplicably decided to stop eating Pill Pockets, as well as refusing all the other Trojan Horses containing hidden tablets, we now have to visit the vet for a steroid injection once a month, at a cost of £85 each time.

The worst part is having to transport the little sod there, because he screams and screams without even stopping to take a breath. In fact, the receptionist once told me that there was no need for me to ring the bell when I arrived there, because they could hear Catorze’s screams from the back of the building.

Cat Daddy came with me to the most recent vet appointment for Catorze’s steroid shot, and he told me afterwards how upsetting it was to see his poor boy so distressed. He was particularly sad at the thought of Catorze’s final trip to the vet – yes THAT one – being a huge trauma, and his time with us ending horribly. We had talked previously about perhaps asking the vet to come to us for That Final Visit and, at the time, Cat Daddy had hesitated due to the cost. We had also wondered whether Catorze would recognise the vet even out of context and be traumatised regardless but, when his last vet left the practice and we invited her over for a farewell cup of tea, she commented on how welcoming Catorze was whereas most of her furry patients, in the same situation, ran away.

When we returned home from the steroid appointment, Catorze forgave us immediately. There was none of the Post-Vet Sulk with which most cat owners are very familiar, nor did he throw up on our best shoes or pee on our bed or any such thing. He just sat with us in the garden, sunning himself in the warmest spot, then cuddled me in bed all night. Despite everything he still loves us, although I do wonder what he thinks the vet visit is all about. I highly doubt that he knows it’s to make him feel better, so perhaps he thinks I just lose the plot once every few weeks and my inner Ms Hyde feels the need to torture him cruelly.

Poor, sweet, trusting little sod. The absolute least we can do is make sure that That Final Visit isn’t awful for him, whatever the cost.