The Thinking Minority

or, Why I Let My Husband Take Monet To The Vet

As my dear husband mentioned, I took Monet to the vet on Monday. See, several months ago Monet began pooping outside her litterbox (ok, her Litter Robot) in the basement - always in the same general area, on the concrete. Since she was only doing this every once in a while, I was fairly certain it was just a behavioral problem, not medical, and I tried a couple of deterrents to no avail.

The pooping-on-the-concrete got more frequent, so a few weeks ago I decided to move the cats' litter and food/water bowls out of the basement and into the guest bathroom upstairs. There were two reasons for this: first, I was sincerely hoping that Monet just really, really liked that concrete and would get over it if she couldn't go down to the basement; and second, I wasn't 100% sure that it was Monet. I mean, Ellie is generally the more well-behaved cat, and I was pretty sure it was Monet, but I wanted to keep a closer eye on them.

Two weeks went by with no inappropriate pooping. But then, just when I started to relax and think the problem was solved, it happened: poop in the dining room. I informed Monet forcefully that she was a bad cat, a very bad cat, and confined her to the guest bathroom until she used the litter again. A week went by...then it happened again: poop in the dining room, in the same spot. At my dear sister's suggestion - she just went through this with her cat, oddly enough - I moved the food bowl to the spot where Monet had pooped. Cats are pretty dumb, but they know not to poop in their food.

All was well for a few days, until I walked into the kitchen one day to find Monet standing oddly in the corner. She turned, looked at me...and pooped. I grabbed her and took her upstairs and left her in the guest bathroom to do her business. And she did...in the sink. And this poop (I really hope you're not eating) was gross. Really gross. Okay, I can't even bring myself to describe it. Just trust me on this one.

This was last Friday, and I made a vet appointment for Monday morning. The visit went reasonably well, right up until the rectal exam. Have you ever tried to hold a cat that didn't want to be held, and who was willing to risk life and limb - well, YOUR life and limb - to get away? They had to wrap her in a towel, and one of the techs and I held her down. Still, she got away, and managed to scratch the tech, so they re-wrapped her and put a mask on her. Yes, a mask - like the one they made Hannibal Lecter wear. And she made the most horrific noise I've ever heard... Later, telling Mr. B about this, he remarked that it probably sounded like the noise she made once when he accidentally stepped on her. My response: Maybe. Did you step on her and then shove something up her ass?

The vet said they'd check her stool and made a followup appointment for today. Monet was pretty good on the ride home, right up until we pulled in the driveway, at which point she pooped in her carrier. Her carrier, where she had no choice then but to sit in her poop. And you can imagine how much she wanted me to hold her down and clean her off once we got inside...

So, that's the back story (ha). I'm not sure who was more traumatized, Monet or me. But stay tuned for the next installment of the Monet saga, which is about the process I use to administer medicine to her - a process that now brings Ellie running (to watch) every time.