T’other day I took the cat to the vet because, quite frankly, I couldn’t cope with her stinky breath anymore. I admit, this is partly my fault, vets have told me in the past that I should clean her teeth, but I have always come away with the feeling that I’d have more luck creating a working nuclear fusion power plant, or brokering peace in the middle east.
I’ve tried some stupid things with cats in the past, I once got a lead for one, which she dutifully wrestled to the ground. Tooth brushing, I figured would be along similar lines, more gnawing and biting than cleaning, like a dog with a bone. Speaking of dogs and bones, I should mention that my sister’s dog, back in the UK, found an ingenious solution for burying it’s bone in a frozen solid, snowbound garden – it went into the greenhouse instead.
So I slinked off to the vet, feeling the tooth decay was a much my fault as 16 years of age. Sure enough, the cat’s ninja death breath was down to some wicked decay. Good I thought, get that sorted out and she won’t smell and, when the inflammation is gone, she won’t drool her alien-esque (it burns my nostrils at any rate) all over me when she purrs.
Not so fast, said the vet. When giving the cat’s history I had mentioned her impressive appetite and high energy levels. This prompted some further examination and the discovery of a nodule in the thyroid gland. Let’s take a blood sample, said the vet. Although she was kind enough to tell me how much that would be before the needle went in. Also, it created the short lived but entertaining game of “Where’s the small patch the vet shaved off the fur to take the blood sample”.
Today the results were back in and sure enough, the cat’s ability to play with a twig for minutes and beg for food for hours is down to hyperthyroidinessosis, or something like that. In fact, her hormone level is a whacking six times higher than it should be! Although there are clearly some diminishing returns in the system, for she it not six times more active than even the most lethargic of cats. But it certainly explains why she chased off a much bigger cat the other day: New Zealand cats are about twice the size of her, although she is small, even by UK standards – a neighbour back there once asked if she was a kitten, which would have been a fair question, if they hadn’t known her for 7 years.
So now we have to give her tablets twice a day to bring back her catlike apathy. Once her teeth are sorted she’ll probably be treated with radioactive iodine to destroy her turbo powers. I hope you’re reading this Stan Lee, it’s comic book character gold!