Dear Diary: today a strange Icelandic woman fiddled my pee-pee
Poor Jack has been having…difficulties. You know…peeing difficulties.
We took him to the local vet this afternoon. She weighed him, squoze his bladder, examined his skin, listened to his heart and said, “you’ll need to get me a urine sample before I can tell you anything. That’ll be £44, please.” About seventy bucks. Sheesh.
To get this here urine sample, we have to isolate him in the downstairs bathroom with a litterbox full of little plastic balls overnight. Then, in the morning, when he has (please god) made pee, I have to suck it up in a pipette and run it in to the vet’s. I have a feeling he’s going to hit that bathroom like a cyclone and scream all night. I plan to drink a lot.
Picture is Jack in the bread oven. Uncle B took it yesterday with his fancy new camera. Here it is — half a meg’s worth of large and in color.
September 22, 2014 — 10:46 pm
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