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Part 1
My name is Tigger Alice Tooncis.
I know, I know - the things they think to call us. Honestly, I started
with one name and now I have to deal with a confusing variety of
titles.
Anyway, I am a fifteen year old female cat and I'd like to share
some ideas on the taking of or avoiding the taking of medication.
First of all, if you want to avoid taking medication in the first
place, you must find ways to hide your illnesses. Make sure you
vomit in the lonely hours of the night under the bed or in another
discreet spot. If you must sneeze, run into the bathroom and close
the door first.
Unfortunately, I was caught vomiting last June. My lady took me
to the dreaded place where the scent of animal fear is thick in
the air. Imagine putting dogs, cats and other creatures in the same
room. If that isn't stressful enough, one must listen to the constant
sounds of pain coming from behind closed doors. Another thing; my
mother was taken there two years ago and never came back.
Well, I'll tell you, friends, I put up a good fight before being
pushed into "the box" that takes me there. The lady has to go into
all sorts of embarrassing and uncomfortable positions to extract
me from beneath my favorite corner under the bed. But I digress.
I was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism, which means I have an overactive
thyroid gland. Which means long term treatment. Which means the
rest of my nine lives treatment! The doctor lady said she could
tell by my heartbeat, but I will tell you my heartbeat was irregular
because of the position I was in, being in this situation and all.
The doctor lady had to take me out of the room to "take blood" to
confirm her diagnosis. Why is it that they take you out of the room
to do things like that? The owner people never know what happens
in "the other room", but that's another story now, isn't it?
I, of course, was given pills to take. Now we get to the learning
part of my story. My lady tried everything to get the pill into
me. These people think we can't taste the slightest bit of difference
in our food or smell the offensive pill?! Maybe you can fool a dog,
dull as they are, but seriously! You should have seen her carefully
wrapping food around the pill, even trying to hide it in people
food. Well I'll tell you what I did. I ate every bit of the food
and left that shiny white pill cleaned as new at the bottom of my
dish. Little did I know that would lead to violence and insult to
my body.
But I was steadfast.
My lady acted as if she were going to give me a nice rub along
my back and grabbed me instead. Wrestling me into position, practically
sitting on me, she pried my reluctant jaws open and set that pill
in my mouth. I, of course, shot that pill across the room. It glanced
off the lady's leg and bounced across the floor. By the time she
retrieved it, I was safely tucked into one of my "hard to get me
out of" hiding places. But, my fellow felines, this was now the
war for my good health.
Determined, she pulled me out attached to the throw rug under the
bed and extracted my claws one by one from that rug. Again she held
me in a vise-like position and forced my mouth open. Scratched,
but focused, she pushed that pill well down my throat. It was in
me for sure. Satisfied, she slumped on the couch pleased with her
ability to keep me alive. I waited. Oh yes, I waited until a peaceful
smile spread across my lady's face. And then, I worked up my agitated
stomach and vomited up that pill. That round white distasteful foreign
object.
With that out of the way, I retreated under the bed.
Distressed, the lady called the doctor. The doctor (remember to
always listen in to phone calls when you hear the word cat involved)
let her know that the pills could be made into a liquid and thus
shot down my throat like a foul projectile. Can you believe that
my lady paid sixty dollars for the pills and then paid twenty dollars
more to make it into a liquid? A "chicken" flavored liquid. What
a joke. I'll bet no cat taster tested that "chicken" flavor.
Well that's where we are today, felines.
Eight months later, once a day, she searches for me, presses me
to floor, aims and shoots. She's actually pretty good at it. At
first I could turn my head and laugh as the expensive elixir hit
the wall or puddled on the floor. After that failed, I figured
out her nightly routine and spent endless evenings under my sanctuary.
She countered that with changing to morning assaults, my most vulnerable
time of day; the time of day I need to get a good rubbing and some
loving attention. Now I never know when it's coming. My trust level
is nil. I spend too much time in the closet. There are times I'll
be getting thoroughly undivided positive attention when that "syringe" is
pulled from nowhere and I am swiftly injected with the evil liquid.
Yes, I still manage from time to time, to avoid a direct hit. And
I am starting to understand that when the refrigerator door is
opened and the hand reaches to the top of the refrigerator that "it" is
being prepared. But the element of surprise is difficult for me
to work with. I am working on a system. I have the rest of my lives
(thanks to the chicken flavored poison) to figure out a defense.
When I do figure it out, I will share with you, who truly care.
Until then, I sign off, but not without asking for your input, your
intelligence on these matters of medicinal avoidance. Write your
methods, felines.
Unite against this intrusiveness. Above all, stay aware, be careful
and mysterious.
Your friend,
Tigger Alice Tooncis
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