Too sexy for his fur
Too sexxy by FAR.
We took the cats to the vet last week.
"WHAT? I ain't goin' to no stinkin' vet!"
Yes you are, it's been like four years. We need to get a handle on the exact nature of your fatness. And general health.
"No, you can't make me go - I'll jump, I swear it!"
No, you won't. It'll be a great time! There will be treats, and fun, and two new big plastic cages for you and Stinky to enjoy!
And, you're going to get your first haircut! So the both of you will hopefully quit it with the constant hairballs!
"Hmm, intriguing. I am enormously fuzzy. And constantly hornking. And I can't go outside on the porch to lay in a sunbeam without combusting. Yes, mayhaps I will tolerate this vet. This time."
Since we're leaving in a couple of weeks, it was time to get the cats checked out and fitted with a clean bill of health. As they were going in anyway, the decision was also made to go ahead and get Fatty a hot new haircut, one that would make all the other kids in the 6th grade jus' jellus.
The vet told us that they often didn't have to anesthetize the cat being groomed, but if the cat couldn't handle the procedure, they would go ahead with knocking it out so the shaving could be done. "Of course," the technician said, "if we do need to anesthetize, we will want to do bloodwork to make sure your cat can handle being put under. The bloodwork isn't absolutely necessary, if you don't mind your sweet sweet kitty dying on the table."
Fine, maybe those weren't the exact words - but the threat was clear.
Husbear was able to drop the cats off in the morning just fine, though he did note the odd noises coming from Fatty's cage - sort of a cross between growling and purring. (growping?)
When the vet called two hours later to tell Husbear that Fatty would have to be anesthetized, he heard the most insane yowling in the background. "Is that my cat?" he asked... and, "Yes, that's Fatty," the tech sighed. "I think we're going to have to go ahead with the anesthesia."
Awww. And sorry!
When I went to pick the kitties up after work, Fatty was coming out of anesthesia and doing well. Stinky had apparently made love with his eyes to every vet tech in the place - they were calling him "lovebug." (Stinky? Lovebug?) I mortgaged my first three kids to pay the vet bill, and home we went.
Fatty looked HILARIOUS. No, funnier than that. You'll at least need a picture to get an idea of how silly he looked. Like he shrugged off an enormous coat, but still had on giant wool socks. Or like he molted.
Plus, Stinky kept hissing at poor Fatty whenever he got too close, since not only did he look totally different, he had also been bathed and thus smelled unlike himself. Stinky was just losing his mind.
I think Fatty breaking into happy trilling song was the final straw for poor Ninks, as he stomped off into the back room and didn't come out for a couple of hours.
"I look GOOD," sings Fatty.
Honestly, he seems really happy - plus, he's so fun to pet now! I do still giggle when I get a look at him out of the corner of my eye, though.
Lookit the sex-x-y guy!
(In case you were wondering, here's what we learned at the vet: Fatty is thinner than Stinky. By two pounds, which is a lot when you're a 13 pound cat. They're both still overweight, though. Plus, Fatty's blood looks great. Good to know.)
So - if you want to come over to pet our newly adorable cat (or maybe lavish some pets on Stinky, who is feeling very put upon these days) you have just under three weeks to do so.
(That is the amount of time until we leave the States, by the way - we're leaving Austin on August 6.)