My Little Golden Book of Phobias

La-de-da.

Yesterday and today, I saw a hummingbird in the back yard, at the "lipstick" plant. I saved a hummingbird a few weeks ago, after wrassling it from Lola's mouth. I'd like to think my hummingbird today was the same one.

Maybe it was. It could be. It could.

Can I speak about pilling katz. Lola needed a vet visit because she was licking and scratching obsessively, even with flea treatment. And she seemed skinny.

So the vet said she thought Lola was allergic to fleas, or rather allergic to flea spit. Really, flea spit? So she gave me fish oil to squirt on Lola's food. Ok, that's easy. And then there was a big pill for just once. And little yellow pills for twice a day, yeah right.

Giving a cat a pill  is like putting your hand into a garbage disposal when it's on. Or putting your hand under the house where you last saw the badger.

I got the big pill into Lola while she chomped down so hard on my right index finger (a very important finger as a midwife), that I shrieked and yelped and proceeded to bleed profusely all over the floor. For a while. Finally, I got the bleeding to stop with a giant bandaid. Then I went to work. Drawing blood with a giant bandaid, very reassuring to my clients, I can tell you.

So what about the little yellow pills? We exchanged them for liquid and so we're supposed to squirt a ml into the side of her mouth.

You wrap the cat in a towel so she/he can't claw your face off. Then you somehow get the medicine beyond her teeth. When we did this to Lola, she foamed at the mouth. GAWD. I thought I killed her. And the look she gave me. I'm sure she'll never forgive me.

I think the vet should give her the little yellow pills. I'm not kidding.