Yesterday started out as a perfectly nice Saturday. We had a leisurely morning, a lovely lunch at Troubles End Brewing, and a relaxing afternoon with coffee and donuts. Joe fed the cats at four, just as usual.
And then, things took a turn.
Taffy began acting very oddly. She ran around the house like a wildcat. We didn't think too much about that, because she does get the zoomies sometimes, but then she starting biting herself on the back, tearing out hunks of fur. She tried to lie down, but every time she got curled up, she'd bite her back and jump back up. Then she run around again, try to settle down again, and jump back up to bite her back. She tore out enough fur to give herself a fairly prominent bald spot!
Joe tried to put some ointment on the bald place, but she actually kind of panicked at that and licked it right off. Of course, by this time we were getting as frantic as Taffy.
We decided to go to the Emergency Vet. I called and got the low down on the procedure and such while Joe wrangled poor Taffy into the carrier.
I don't know if you've ever been to an Emergency Vet, but Oh. My. God. We didn't have to wait too long for the nurse to take Taffy into the back, but then the real wait began. We saw one poor mastiff named Archie who did not feel well at all, poor doggo. Then little Bella came limping in. This elderly pit mix was a real flirt and even got Archie to wag his tail for a minute. There were a few cats in carriers, and a wee chihuahua wrapped in the towel, and a lot of concerned hoomins.
For the most part, the hoomins behaved well, except for one woman who complained about the wait, about the cost, about how it was really her grandson's dog, and about how she was going on vacation and why did it cost so much anyway and how much longer was it going to take and oh, all right, would they take a personal check?
We hunkered down in our corner of the waiting room and... waited.
After a couple hours, the vet came out. Only one of us could go back with him, so Joe volunteered and I... waited.
Eventually Joe came out of the inner animal sanctum. The doctor had examined Taffy pretty thoroughly. There was no sign of injury. Her internal organs were fine - no lumps or sores or possible blockages. No evidence of insect bites or rashes. So, the doctor determined that it must have been some sort of allergic reaction to something she ate. God knows what that could have been!
Anyway, she got a shot of Kitty Benadryl and a prescription for Kitty Prednisone. We're to take her to the regular vet for a follow up this coming week.
And then, we waited and waited and waited some more. We paid the bill. And waited some more. The cashier pinged the nurses. We waited.
Finally, at 12:45 AM, seven hours after we arrived, a nurse brought Taffy back to us. That cat let us know all the way home how horrible the experience was and what awful hoomins we were. Thank God we only live two miles away!
But you know what? That long, long, long wait was worth every minute and the bill was worth every penny. Taffy is back to her old asshole self and we wouldn't have it any other way.