I had to take my cat, Sally, to the vet for her annual shots and check up. She is nineteen years old. That's old for a cat.
Our vet is doing the contactless vet thing where you drive up, call the office and they come out to your car. So, the vet tech did the intake while talking to me from the passenger side window.
I gave him the low down on Sally. She's old. Her back legs are a little stiff, but she still gets around especially when she gets chased by the other cats. She runs and hisses at them.
The vet tech opened the passenger side door and took away Sally in her cage.
The vet came back to talk with me after he checked her out. She's doing good for an "older lady," but still full of spit and vinegar.
I asked if she yelled at him. She yells loudly and sounds really mean.
She didn't, but hissed when he poked her abdomen.
He didn't see anything concerning. He did offer me a supplement to help with her stiff joints. Since I only had to sprinkle it on the top of her food, I accepted. I separate the cats out when I give them canned food. Otherwise, my youngest, fat cat eats everything. Since Sally is only six pounds at the most (which is half the size of my other cats) and doesn't chew so well anymore, she needs all the canned food she can get.
The vet's parting remark was, "We'll try to keep her alive for another five years."
My son was thrilled to hear that since we haven't had a cat live over twenty yet. My husband wasn't so happy since she likes to pee in the corner on his side of the bed and he smells it.
She's not the best cat, but she does love to cuddle with the boys while they play video games and drools on them happily.
I guess we'll see if we get five more years with her...
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