It’s the weekend, time to take the cat to the vet again, I guess

Spot the cat

On Friday nights some couples go to the cinema, other couples go to the pub. We, however, take our cat Spot to St Monans at 11 pm to have his bladder drained by a vet. But, as my friend Simon says, I’m sure we’re all the closer for it.

Second weekend in a row. What a pisser!

Or not.

Wedding preparations

Wedding rings beside a lily.

Tomorrow, in Selkirk, I will have the privilege of conducting the wedding service for a couple of friends: Kenny Fyfe and Chris Goble; I was at Selkirk High School with Kenny from 1983-1989. For some of that time Kenny appointed himself as my “Manager”, but that’s a whole other ballpark of worms (to mix my metaphors).

I’ve just finished my preparations for the rehearsal this evening and service tomorrow afternoon. I have my liturgy (order of service) printed out and marked up, my homily written and printed. This will be the first Christian service that I’ve conducted since Provincial Youth Camp at Glenalmond in early August, and the first wedding I’ve helmed since July 2005, and I’m really looking forward to it.

If it is your discipline, please pray for Kenny and Chris as they begin a new chapter in their lives together, for their friends and family as they travel to Selkirk for the celebrations, and for me that my cold clears up enough to allow me to conduct the service comfortably (and audibly). At the moment I sound as though Barry White has joined the Bob Harris / Leonard Cohen teaching faculty and I’m top (or bottom) of the class.

Spot is now on holiday, being looked after by the vet, his brother Smudge is being looked after by neighbours, and Triskal has adopted a nice old man, and has decided to live there permanently.

I’m dizzy!

Spinning coloured lights.

The photograph above represents an artist’s impression of how it feels to be living inside my head just now.

My throat hurts, my eyes hurt, I sound as though I’ve had a series of voice coaching lessons from both ‘Whispering’ Bob Harris and Leonard Cohen, and now I’m dizzy.

I’m off work today to recover. A day of rest, paracetamol, decongestant, Vicks Vaporub and Megazone pastilles ahead methinks.

In other news: Spot is back home now. We are now £212 poorer, but all the richer for having a more comfortable cat. (That makes him sound like a sofa!) Two hundred pounds?! They’re taking the piss!

Our task for the next seven days is to administer four separate medicines at various points throughout the day, including one where we have to open the pill capsule, pour half the contents (in powder form) down the cat’s throat, and then reseal the capsule in order to do it again eight hours later. Oh, he’s going to love that! (Irony.) Fun, fun, fun…!

Spot’s emergency overnight stay at the vet’s

Our cat Spot sitting on a window ledge.

Summary: Jane returned home from Fort William this evening — where she’d stayed in a B&B for only 10 minutes, for £30.00, before turning around and driving back to Cellardyke. She arrived around 10:45, just in time for us to take our cat Spot to the vets as an emergency.

What a week! First the upset with the house, then Jane took the bus to her car on the other side of Edinburgh only to discover that her keys were still in a jacket in the office, and this afternoon she drove all the way to Fort William for a meeting tommorow, booked herself into her Bed & Breakfast (a very nice one, by all accounts) and managed to enjoy its plush surroundings for all of ten minutes before she learned — at 19:40 — that her meeting had been cancelled. Fifteen minutes, and thirty pounds later, Jane was back on the road and winding her way towards Spean Bridge, the A9, Perth and then Fife.

Spot had looked quite uncomfortable all evening, but wasn’t meowing any more than he normally does. He’s the kind of attention-seeker that would have fitted in well at TISEC when I was there. He’d certainly have given some (purple-ish) students a run for their money! But by late evening he couldn’t sit still. He’d turn, and yowl, and move and meow again; obviously in a lot of discomfort by now.

Jane rang the vet, and reassured that we weren’t being paranoid we loaded Spot into the car (safely caged in a cat carrier) and headed for St Monans.

“He’s very quiet,” I said as we drove through Pittenweem. “That’s very unlike him.”

Jane reached back and gave him a gentle prod through the cat carrier’s grille. “He’s not moving,” said said, her voice had an air of panic.

“REALLY?!” I said. “Do you want me to stop?”

I began to speed up a little, determined to get to the vets quickly. I had visions of performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a cat at the side of the A917.

“MEEEOOOOWWWW!” squealed Spot.

“Welcome back!” We both sighed and drove on into the darkness between Pittenweem and St Monans.

We were right to take him in. It was indeed an emergency. Spot’s bladder was completely full, and his pee tube (it gets no more technical than that on this blog!) was blocked with some kind of fine crystals that looked like sand. We’ve left him there overnight where he’ll get sedated and his bladder drained by one method or another.

Poor wee thing. Prayers please for little Spotty, and his brother Smudge who will be wondering all night where he is. If it wasn’t for this thick cold that I have I reckon I’d not be getting any sleep tonight anyway.