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Poor kitty

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Poor kitty

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I just caught him, swaddled him in a towel, squeezed his jaws open, and popped a quarter-tablet of Flagyl down his throat.

I hated to do it, because he was actually EATING for the first time since Sunday, but it was easier to wait for him to come to his food than it was to try to drag him out from under the furthest corner of my bed.

He just gave me the most BALEFUL look as he stood on the stairs after I let him go.

Yes, he's having another attack of colitis. Which we learned about on Sunday, when he very deliberately and publicly pooped on the floor. Really foul squooshy diarrhea poop, too. Called the vet Monday, had him in on Tuesday. They decided that since it had been colitis this summer, they probably didn't need to run all the bloodwork again or keep him overnight, so it wasn't a heart-stopping vet bill, at least. And now I have two weeks of the contact sport known as Pilling The Cat. The 15-year-old cat.

I'll know he's getting better when he starts fighting back harder and more actively spitting out the pill. Right now he's still feeling low enough not to do more than glare at me.

I'm not going to bother with hiding the pill in treat food, though, since he doesn't seem to LIKE human food. Offer Khaavren a shrimp, and he'll just rub his face against it -- hiding the pills in deli meat or Easy Cheez doesn't make them any more appealing to him.

With luck, this round of medication will keep him healthy for a good while. That, and the actual prescription kibble, instead of just the Science Diet "sensitive stomach" kibble that's over-the-counter. And he'll live to rub his face on cardboard boxes and head-butt us when we're watching television for a few more years.
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