Happy National Cat Urethra Day
Let's laugh about our pets costing us a billion dollars at the emergency vet.
I just finished picking up my dog’s super expensive urinary tract cat food kibble by kibble from the concrete floor. I am pleased to tell you that the back kibble over in the corner that looked darker than the others was covered in shadows, not in tiny black ants. There was a time that it, or its kibble brethren, WERE covered in ants and there will be a time again but not this time.
In addition to feeding our dog expensive cat food we also regularly pay more for products that work less well. Our organic, pet safe ant spray is one of those products. I’m pretty sure a spray bottle of water would be just as effective. Why? (you might be wondering,) do we feed our dog cat food? Because it turns out I am not the only lazy person in our family.
It goes like this. One of our three cats has the sort of urethra issues (happy national cat urethra day!) that requires expensive food because all regular stuff makes him form little pee crystals (possibly beautiful who could say) that block him from being able to pee. With three cats, you are probably asking, how could you tell one of them wasn’t peeing? Weren’t the 80 litter boxes abundantly full anyways? (celebrating full litter boxes is a vital part of cat urethra day) Yes. Yes of course they are full. Abundantly so. But we knew because of the blood and the yowling. Obviously this began on a Sunday, the official day of all pet emergencies, necessitating a visit to the emergency vet (further, longer wait, significantly more costly.) I was prepared to sit and wait for hours, I had brought the latest manuscript I was translating into Latin prepared to sit for hours. No. But I had my phone and it was charged so I was still prepared to sit. I put Alf in his box on the counter and rested my chin next to him. The counter was over five feet tall. It helps to make pet owners feel even more like their pets have all the power. When I explained the symptoms the emergency vet changed to a 1970’s Manhattan disco. Strobe lights came forward from the walls, a mirrored ball dropped from the ceiling, a musical soundtrack swelled, the place really came alive. Actually it DID come alive. “We have a blockage.” The check-in person stood from their seat atop the five foot platform looming above me. The door to the back flung open and three people in maroon scrubs came to fight it out over the single handle of the cat carrier, a light flashed above the door.
An elderly woman stepped into the lobby with her perky something doodle. “Stand back” Another scrubbed person told her. “This is an emergency.” I would have felt proud if I didn’t feel scared.
Turns out cats bladders can explode like pee balloons at the worst birthday party ever.
We ended up going through this three times in a six week period. They do various plumbing type things to unblock the urethra, they watch the cat until the cat pees. I’m sure all three of the techs were glued to his cage competing to see the first drop appear. Then they return the cat to you with instructions for special food and a bill with three zeroes none of which is the first number.You are given instructions never to leave the cat alone. Any further blockage can be deadly.
Just two days later (don’t worry it happened at 11pm so we still had to go to the emergency vet) he was yowling beneath our bed so we had to drag him out, box him up and go to the emergency vet. Steve too him because I can’t drive at night and I am also the much more grumpy one when sleep deprived. I told him to yell “blockage” “blockage” as he arrived. I wasn’t really kidding. I’m sure he didn’t arrive the the appropriate level of hysteria but he did confirm the disco ball and multiple handlers so he could see that in fact I had not exaggerated the reception.
This stay was a bit longer and over the phone the next morning they told us about the surgery our cat would most likely need. “We operate on a three strikes rule.”
“So next time this happens he gets the surgery?” I ask, my hand, automatically doodling zeroes on the sheet of paper I had pulled out to take notes on.
“Well…I might be able to count these two events as one strike since we didn’t have time for the interventions to set in and you do seem to notice the signs and get him here quickly.”
“Yes. Let’s give them time to set in we will stay in the room with him to make sure he is OK.”
I went to pick him up and two maroon clad techies passed his crate forward. I looked at their bandaged wrapped wrists and offered sympathy. “You must get pretty scratched up working here.” One looked at the other and they both looked at me. “Well his chart was coded ‘spicy’ but we have never seen anything like him. He is the MOST spicy.” I had an idea but I clarified anyways. “Spicy like vicious?” “We would never call a cat vicious.” Said one. The other nodded at me. He was the MOST vicious. I checked the carrier to make sure I had supplied to correct cat. One of our cats was sort of spicy the other two we had bottle raised from two weeks old and were darling. And you can tell how darling they are because I am using the word darling and I don’t like that word because darling is too darling.
It was Alf in there. I opened the door a crack to pull out the pink stretchy stuff that they put around folded gauze pads to keep them attached to pet limbs. Both techs jumped backwards. “Wait. We will get someone else to help us make that more secure.”
I didn’t wait though I pulled him out and he limp noodled against my chest purring staying there on his own while I re-wrapped the stuff over the shaved bit where he had had an IV. “Do some more” said one tech pulling a roll of the stretchy stuff from some invisible storage in her scrubs. “Hold the backup” the other said into a walkie talkie that was likewise hidden.
“It took four of us to do that back there.”
So we went home and he was super sweet (as he is) and then we remembered that we were spending two days in the mountain that weekend (yes. Weekend. you know where this is going.) So we called our REGULAR vet and asked to board him there and while he was with them he had “strike two.” The regular vet then sent us back to the emergency vet who has a “much more sophisticated surgical set up.” This vet thought odds were not good that things would resolve without surgical intervention. The vet was a VBD (very big deal) and explained the surgery to us slowly with VBW (very big words) I can do a better job. Cats with penises have urethras that are narrow. Certain cats digest food poorly and don’t break every down small enough to pass through and crystals get stuck. Then the bladder fills. It is painful. If you don’t catch it in time the bladder bursts. That’s not good. So there are two things to do…keep them from making the crystals using special crystal reducing food (its possible I don’t have a complete scientific handle on this part) which we had begun less than a week ago or shortening the cat’s urethra so that only the wider part remains. After quite literally looking down his nose at us using words only found in a textbook he sums up. “We turn a boy cat into a girl cat.”
Steve put his arm on me. I am going to explode like a pee filled bladder. “Anatomy is not gender.” I say. But quietly.
Alf is on his second strike. We have to go back to the emergency vet to have an “official” consult regarding the surgery and give our approval because if he comes back again they will have to do it as an emergency procedure. I ask if we should do it proactively and they say that if we keep a watch on him we can wait and see if the food works before doing the $5,000+ surgery. I do take this opportunity to explain the difference between anatomy and gender and express totally calmly that the other vet’s explanation was absolutely not the way to talk about the surgery. I am happy to report that they were aghast, said they would talk to him, didn’t charge us for the consult (they were going to charge us for the consult? Do I misunderstand the definition of consult?) and gave us a free roll of sticky stretchy stuff for our son to wad into balls that will roll around the house and pick up pet hair and other dirt.
I am happy to report that all four pets (including the dog) enjoy the special prescription urinary cat food and that it has been two years and Alf the spicy cat remains stalled at strike two. Would it be possible to give each pet a separate timed and measured meal? Obviously. But it turns out the urinary cat food is designed for obligate carnivores and is healthier for the dog too. Fewer additives because additives are the ingredients of crystals (you are welcome for the extra science lesson.)
So we are totally giving all four pets the same expensive food because it is what is best for them. Not because it would be a real hassle to feed them each separately. Plus if we served and measured things at proper meal times there would be no kibble left over for the ants. Ants need urinary cat food too!
So happy National Cat Urethra day! Let’s celebrate with abundantly full litter boxes! And mom- don’t look it up. The holiday is fictional…at least until this post goes viral.
Let me have it. I know you have expensive pet stories.
I too would give all my pets the same food. So.Much.Easier.
Sunday is definitely the day of all pet emergencies. Bonus points for the pet having an issue right before you're supposed to travel, as our dog was fond of doing.