I just realized the other day, as I was revisiting our vet experience in my mind, that homegirl (the vet) did not address the two concerns I came to her with. If you’ll recall, I made the appointment in the first place because Captain’s tail was all wonky and I read an article about cat tail injuries could result in butt paralysis which could lead to an inability to poop which could lead to… more bad things having to do with butts and poop.
The very first thing I said to her was the thing about the tail! I told her it was getting better and he seemed to have regained his full range of motion but that the base of his tail was still swollen and weird-looking. She did not look at his tail. Not once. She hardly acknowledged my comment at all, actually. She was much too busy trying to convince me that I should have Captain on antibiotics to make him sneeze less.
I also told her I was concerned about Bill’s ear crusties. They form on that little patch of skin in front of his ears and when I try to scrape them off, Bill likes it and then HATES it which leads me to believe they are both itchy and hurty? I don’t know. But she didn’t look. Instead she focused on his weight–which is a little tooooooo…. jungle cat, not quite enough house cat–but her solution was to cut his food, bring him in every 2 weeks for a weigh-in and if he hadn’t lost enough weight in a month, to put him on very expensive special food.
The more I think back on it, the more the entire 2 hours of vet time was like walking into a shady mechanic’s shop and asking for an oil change. Except they skip the oil change and take your entire car apart and charge you for it and then you leave with a megabill but still need an oil change.
We are going back for the booster shot in a couple weeks because Rabies shots are important but that’s it after that. I’ll find someone else. What I’ve learned from listening to all ya’ll is that you don’t HAVE to be bullied into excessive treatments by your vet. And I should have known this about this particular place too since even as Daisy (my grandmother’s cat who lived with my parents after Gram died) was wasting away to nothing at 18 years old with no discernible diseases, they still harangued my mom about medications and life-saving methods when she brought Daisy in to be put down.
I definitely need a new vet.