The Howard situation
I mentioned before that our boy-cat, Howard, was pissing all over the free world (and have had a couple of nice search referrers as a result. Hello, Google!). Well, Marshall took him in to the vet, and the nightmare commenced. Since we had a Saturday appointment initially, all that was done was a physical and updating his shots--around here, that costs nearly $80 by itself. To determine whether Howard's actions were behavioral or physical, he'd have to have a urinalysis, and for that, we'd have to bring him in on Monday.
So Marshall carted Howard back up to the vet Monday. At some point, he did his duty, they sent it out to be analyzed, and everything went to hell. Something in the result led the vet to order a radiograph (without first authorizing it with us), through which she determined that Howard's bladder was full of stones. Ick, right? And the only thing guaranteed to work was surgery. To the tune of $1,150. Damn. And even if we didn't agree to surgery, we still had to pay over $200 for the analysis, X-ray, antibiotic, and other misc. costs. Double damn.
Marshall brought him home, and we considered the situation. While we couldn't afford to pay for the surgery, what else could we do? I looked up Howard's condition, and it seems that there are two types of stones, only one of which might shrink in response to a dietary change. Only, you can't tell without a test which type you're dealing with. And if the stones are the type that doesn't respond to dietary therapy, not only will they not dissolve, the diet changes prescribed also will make them worse. So if you choose to go with a dietary change (lasting at least a couple of months), you may well be digging your kitty's urinary grave.
We could put him down, we reasoned. How could we be expected to shell out nearly $1,200 for a cat? Or, we could give him away--but who did we know who could pay the same amount? Were we willing, then, to have Howard euthanized for something as ridiculous as bladder stones (not minimizing the discomfort he was in, of course).
As it turns out, we weren't. I got myself approved for a special financing plan, and we scheduled the surgery. All good, right? Almost. Apparently, some of the stones had begun to try to escape out his, ummmm, you know, boy cat part (refusing to allow k@t p_n_s to be a referrer). This was a problem. Our vet did not feel up to the task of operating on such a delicate organ and called Marshall to let him know we were looking a second, emergency surgery, costing at least as much as the one in progress. Triple damn.
Fortunately, with the assistance of Mr. Dr. Vet and a couple of techs, our vet was able to deal with the escapee stones. And there you have it. Howard recovered from the anaesthesia, ripped out his own catheter, and stormed the kennel. Or didn't. It's already shrouded in legend and mystery.
Now, if we could only find someone to give him the four pills he needs each day.