Cords had a rough couple weeks in October, which necessitated two trips to the vet, which, as far is she is concerned, is two trips too many. Her least favorite thing to do is anything relating to her crate, which means that any vet trip is a nightmare for me too. And last winter, after she tore up my entire left arm, and Mum's hand, trying to get her in the crate from my parents' for the trip back to Philly, I told her that she was never going anywhere ever again.
Unless it was to the vet.
It was a Saturday evening, and she started gross-drooling. I don't want to get into details about this, let's just leave it at gross-drooling. Leaving nasty, uncharacteristic slobbers all over the place, and not grooming as throughly as she usually does. I do know her teeth are all messed up: she was in a hoard (well over 350 cat roomies) and has all sorts of issues now (very small, FIV, scared of everything real cats enjoy, bad teeth) plus I think she needs glasses and that she's a lefty. So Monday morning I call the vet and we schedule a check up for the very next day.
I shove her in the crate and we head out. She complains the entire trip to the vet, and the entire time we sat in the waiting room. Last time we went to the vet, Cords attempted to crawl up the wall of the exam room, and ended up suctioning herself to the floor. The vet was reluctant to pry her up, so she just did the exam and vaccinations on the floor. So this time the vet opens Cords file and says, "Has her temperament changed since last fall? No? Okay, we'd like to give her a tranquilizer so that we can do a proper thorough exam." Certainly! Dope that kitty up!
The verdict: Cordie has a number of foul teeth that need to be removed. Her blood test comes back all well, so we're set to get the offending chompers extracted.
Everyone at work kept asking, how many teeth? I didn't ask. And it didn't really matter. Like I'd let her keep nasty teeth in her mouth, when they are clearly sore and she's mouth breathing foul stinky breath into my face at night and leaving gross-drool all over my apartment?
A week after the initial appointment, I shoved a hungry kitty into the crate and dropped her off early at the vet. I'd be able to pick up my dopey kitty at the end of the work day. She was dopey, but not like the dogs would be, all knock-kneed and wobbly. She kept wandering around the apartment wide-eyed like she'd never seen it before. Like, "Omg! Is that a red pillow? A blue blanket? Madness!"
How many teeth had to come out? Seven. SEVEN! And since she'd already been lacking teeth when she moved in, she only has one fang left (on the bottom left) and no teeth at all on the top! Thankfully, this has not affected her eating habits at all.
Everyone at work did a simultaneous awwww/lol when I explained how Cordie is now Gummy Kitty. She also inspired the chalk pumpkin up in the staff room. No idea who the artist is... there are a couple suspects.
(On a side note, we have such a big number of people sharing the same tiny staff room, purges are a regular event.)