brusha ... brusha ... brusha

I may be dating myself with that one. It's the from the 1950's Ipana toothpaste commercials starring Bucky Beaver. Still it seems fitting. We just picked up the cat from the dentist.

Last week Buffy & Spike had their check-ups. It was all good, except for Buffy's teeth. Yes, cats develop plaque and tartar just like we do. Unfortunately they can't brush. We give them dry food and crunchy tartar & plaque control snacks but Buffy had the dreaded tartar anyway.

So last week she had her pre-anesthesia blood work and this morning we dropped her off at the vet. Buffy is a tiny, quiet little thing compared to her brother. She rarely talks and you can hardly hear her purr. So when we went back for her this evening I knew it couldn't be her screaming in the back room of the vet's office.

The vet tech came out holding her collar.
"This came off," she told me.
Briefly I wondered why she hadn't put it back on. Then they handed me the bill and I forgot all about the collar.

After JP picked me up off the floor I pulled out a credit card and berated myself for not going to veterinary school. Then another girl came out carrying a crate that looked like ours but CatZilla was caged inside. They assured me it was Buffy but when I stuck my face in front of her she bared her teeth and hissed at me.

She'd pooped and peed in the crate and the tech offered to get me a paper towel. It was pretty obvious they were afraid to get near her. So was I. We opted to get her home first.

We put the crate on the kitchen floor and JP opened the top with a ten foot pole. After a few minutes she hopped out and Spike came over to inspect her. She hissed at him and waddled about for a bit, still groggy from the anesthesia. Then she disappeared upstairs.

I hope I can get her to come out from under the bed so I can give her the Clindamycin.