The very next day after we came home from Vegas I noticed something terrible, something that made my stomach drop and my blood pressure rise.
Beautiful little Beckham had a big open sore on his backside. It looked deep and possibly infected. And it didn't look like it was going to heal up nicely on its own.
I knew it had to be done, he had to go to the vet. I didn't know how I was going to get him there but I made the call and scheduled the appointment. They only opening they had was at 5pm the next day. This meant I had more than a day to fret about how I was going to get this sweet little cat in a carrier and to the vet.
Remember how adorable he is...
Unfortunately that little tiny package of cuteness is a big old fur ball of crazy. Beckham is the most neurotic cat I have known and as he gets older he gets worse. I haven't been able to pick him up for years and the last time we moved I basically had to trick him to get him in the carrier. Getting Beckham to do something he doesn't want to do is stressful for human and feline alike!
The next morning I brought all of our carriers out of deep storage, assembled them, and placed them around the apartment. I had a very futile hope that his curiosity would get the best of him and he would climb inside to take a nap.
While that sounds like a crazy plan, it worked but on the wrong cat. And not just once
but twice Roxy climbed inside the carriers and settled in for a nap.
It was getting close to appointment time so I moved in to action. Beckham was fast asleep on the bed and I saw my chance to make this happen. I quietly placed one of the large carriers just outside the bedroom door. I tip toed over to his spot on the bed and quickly grabbed the scruff of his neck.
Well just as quickly he twisted and flipped around and sliced a few razor shop claws through my forearms. His move trumped my move and I released my furry master in defeat.
For some reason I can't explain he decided not to seek safety under the bed, but behind the litter box. After a good 10 minutes of mental debate while washing out my wounds I decided that I needed to try again before cancelling the appointment.
I grabbed a bath towel and the biggest of the carriers and headed to the entry way. Beckham ran away from me towards the front door. This worked in my favor, between the towel and the carrier Beckham really couldn't get past me. He hissed with his ears flat back, but that didn't stop me from inching closer to him. He was trying to figure out how to jump over me and my ridiculous towel/carrier contraption, but he ended up just under the front hall table. At that point I covered him with the towel and ushered him in to the carrier.
Is there anything more pathetic than Beckham in the carrier?
He stayed as far away from the door as he could possibly get. Of course at one point he was under the blankets in the carrier.
We made it to the appointment and from there he had a barrage of tests and examinations. He had an abscessed anal gland that became infected. The vet suggested she could show me how to express his anal glands every month or so to prevent this in the future. I'm pretty sure Beckham is not letting me anywhere near his nether region, especially on a monthly basis. They cleaned him up, gave him the antibiotic shot (yay, no trying to give him an antibiotic pill for two weeks), checked his blood and a few hours later we were headed home. Headed home in the rain. Headed home in the rain with no umbrella. Headed home in the rain with no umbrella and wearing a cone.
Yes, they insisted he wear the dreaded cone so he wouldn't lick at the open sore. This was a big mistake, big, big mistake. As soon as I opened the carrier door Beckham flew out and went to hide under his favorite chair. Unfortunately the cone was so big he couldn't fit under the chair - he went crashing in to it. Well that scared him even more, so he tried to get under the chair again and again he went crashing in to the chair with his cone. From there he just started ping ponging across the living room trying to find a place to hide and getting more and more upset.
Once again he ran to the entryway and crouched under the front hall table. He let me approach him very slowly and even though he did try to run I was able to hold him down and get the cone untied and off his head.
After that we all needed dinner and I needed a stiff drink. As much as it wasn't Beckham's night, it also wasn't my night. One of our favorite wine bars was packed so we went to a new burger place, unfortunately we didn't realize until we were seated they didn't have a liquor license yet! We stayed and ate, by this time it was getting late and I was done messing around. I think they have their liquor license now, but we haven't been back - they will learn that when I want a drink, they are expected to provide a drink.
The vet wanted Beckham to come back in a week for a checkup - yeah, right. Luckily his sore healed right up and didn't require any further attention. We all survived until the next cat-trastrophy!
