Be Brave Project: Day Five--Baby, Come Back

I cannot imagine what the hell a cat thinks when suddenly all the little amenities are gone: No water, no food, bedroom door closed so you can't hide beneath the bed amongst the lovely boxes, coffee table trestles, and suitcases that you've alternatively shed/vomited on. . .

But I very much doubt the first thing that goes through a feline cranium is the thought, "H'mm. . .I'm probably getting dental work today."

However, this morning Gigi Colette (rescue cat, quirky beauty, and entirely good egg) went in to have dental scraping and extraction. The vet, the sorrowful and avuncular Dr. Fierman of Cathedral Vets on 102nd Street, took a look at her chompers in April, when Gigi Colette last took a trip down on the M104 to visit him. "Way too much tartar for a cat her age." He said. "We need to scrape it."

"OK", I said, picturing a riveting few minutes in his waiting room with several 8 month old copies of Cat Fancier, "Knock yourself out." "No. We need to anaesthisize her--you drop her off one morning, and pick her up that night." For a dental cleaning???

Apparently.

I asked if she was in pain, if the tartar was causing any infections--Answer: Not now, Not for A While.

Hmmm.
The price, even with the 10% artist's discount Dr. Fierman gives, was pretty astrodamn-nomical. But that's what credit cards are for, right? I use mine so infrequently I don't even carry the things around with me most days. But--I didn't like the idea of Gigi Colette being put under. For dental scraping? C'mon, Dr. Fierman, be a man about it. She's just a little girl--admittedly, with talons like scythes--but just a wee kitty.

So, having ascertained that Gigi Colette was in no pain and no danger, I took her home with me. And I bloody kept her there. General Anaesthesiology for teeth cleaning, my ass. That's freaking asanine--and dangerous. And poor G will wake up but I won't be there--oh, all of my bullshit cheap-ass catastrophizing alarm bells were ringing.

But I did dimly realize that when it comes to feline anaesthesiology, I perhaps don't know best, with my little arts degree.

And, lovely as GC is, was and always shall be, about a month ago her breath began to take on the aroma of rotting canteloupe.

Enter Be Brave Project: Day 5--It's all about Gigi's Teefs. After I didn't feed and water her this morning, bundled her into her oversized carrier (which I stuck all over with travelling stickers, as if she's floated ashore on many continenents, a lady of adventure in need of a breath mint), and hauled her down to the Vet's.

I think she'll be all right.

They'd better not kill my cat.

Her breath wasn't that bad, if you just turned your head. . .and the apartment feels peculiar without my cat in it.

Next post/picture will be post-picking up Gigi, which I get to do during Rush Hour so should be fun.

Oh, BTW--also called Sous Chef at Consulate who told me about health care, and spoke with a woman at Bank of America about a mortgage. Bad news: No chance in hell I can buy in NYC. Good News: With a co-signer, I can buy up-state somewhere.

So lots of Brave things done today!