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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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