There’s a lovely story about the Buddha cutting off the sleeve of his garment rather than disturb a sleeping cat. I bet he never gave up his desk chair, though.
With her teeth tucked away and her claws politely sheathed, she appears harmless.
This is Electra, and we love her.
Of course we do.
Electra is the poster cat for loud-mouthed, demanding Siamese cats the world over. And she has allergies. This is relevant because she must sit in your lap, but never got the memo about sneezing into her elbow.
She prefers to sneeze, multiple times, all over your keyboard. Where your hands are. It would be a joy if coffee spills were all I had to wipe off the keyboard on which I am now typing.
(FYI: the size of the cat is NOT an accurate indicator of either the volume or the velocity of their snot.)
Medications of any kind are never well-received by cats, in my experience. Dogs can sometimes be tricked, coaxed, or even shamed into taking pills. Cats, not so much.
So I’m wondering. . . have any of you have ever had to pill a cat?
Because when the vet tech demonstrated it, I tried to tell myself this doesn’t look too bad. Pry mouth open. Pop in pill. Hold cat’s mouth closed until she swallows. The odds appeared in my favor. After all, how hard can it be to hang onto a little seven pound cat?
Doing this at home was another thing. I mean, the vet tech had it easy. The cat was a pill virgin. Now that Electra knows what’s coming, it’s actually really, really hard to pry open a mouth filled with sharp, pointy teeth and try to shove a pill in there when the owner of that mouth is sure you’re trying to murder her.
And then there’s the tongue. A cat’s tongue, as you may be aware, is covered with raspy little protrusions that may have another purpose, but work very well at catching and holding items the cat is going to swallow when hell freezes over. If then.
Hence the snot on the keyboard.
Hey, it’s better than blood.
So I deal with it.