…First of all, I just have to say…I got bored and looked at my search term stats and saw that someone was directed to my blog by googling this phrase: “where can i find christmas words for my mother”……

I’m pretty sure they didn’t find what they were looking for. I’d apologize, but it wouldn’t be sincere.

So some crazy person asked about my kitty’s constipation. I think they’re crazy (in fact, I know this as a fact seeing as how I know them in real life) but due to the fact that I do actually know this person, and not telling the story could lead to facebook harassment, I’ll concede. My apologies in advance.


Let me start off by explaining a bit about my cat. Her name is Mischief. I originally tried to convince my family to name her “Nyssa” but they weren’t buying it (besides…I thought “Leela” fit better and they didn’t like that either), anyway, her name was Nyssa for about three days until we all thought “Diva” would be better. A week later…we realised the only appropriate name would be “Mischief”. And this was before the birds and the mice started showing up….

So Mau (as I call her. Cause I’m too lazy for two syllables) never hisses. I’ve heard her do it twice. Once when I was putting elf booties on her (punishment clothing for a bird) and once when………something. I don’t remember.

But last Friday I came home around 9ish and she was sitting upstairs which wasn’t very normal for her at that time of night. So I picked her up and went to talk to my mum and she hissed and jumped out of my arms.

The cat. Not my mum.

She ran outside and I’m freaking out because she hissed and my mum suggests that maybe she’s hungry. I try to feed her but can’t find her so I go back to my business, only to find her sitting at the top of the stairs again five minutes later. Rinse and repeat the hissing shit.

Dumb cat that she is ran into my bedroom to sit on my bed as way of getting away from me. I never said she was smart. So fucktard gets home from work and he’s trying to pet her but she keeps jerking back her foot like it hurts her, and then she runs away and is walking funny which makes us think it’s an abscess. She hissed about one more time and I gave up because she was starting to act like a teenager with scary fucking PMS.


The next morning, mum decides that we should take her to the emergency animal clinic because the cat is still all grumpy face, and I’m all for it because if it goes a really long time I could end up not having to see the Uncle-That-Ruins-Holidays. So we’re at the hospital for small things and they take her back and I’m waiting and my ADD’s kicking it like crazy and finally the vet calls me back and she’s like: “I can’t find anything wrong with your cat”. I kinda blinked at her, and then looked at my cat, who had jumped on the counter and started pawing at the cupboards looking for a place to hide. I quickly ask her to get my cat off there because Mau is closing in on the edge and she has the grace of a dog and as funny as it would be to see her tumble off there backwards, I would feel really bad if it happened – especially when she is in pain. In hindsight, I’m kinda glad that didn’t happen because it might have forgone the enema and taken care of the problem itself and then I might have cried. She hands the cat to me, which is perfect because I really wanted a cat burrowing behind me to keep my ass warm. She offers up a couple of options and I ask for the cheapest because dad’ll kill me when he finds out how much this is costing.

After the blood work and the x-rays she comes back and tells me that the blood work is fine, but they can do a more expensive one if I want to look at other things in her blood. My brain is starting to hurt. She then shows me the x-rays. She’s pointing out things that could be potential problems, like “your cat’s heart is large, could be a heart murmur”, “your cat’s lungs are weird, she’s going to die of the plague”, “this spot is funny, your cat is an alien and is looking for the mother ship” and “look it’s a big piece of crap that is too big to leave your cat with dignity”. Then she lists of the options: “More expensive ass blood work”, “More x-rays, plus sedatives so my cat can become addicted to drugs”, “contact the mothership for immediate return”, “hop around on one foot and entertain the problem from the cat”, “enema”. The other options were way too expensive or were options I only made up…so I chose enema.

They were nice though. I didn’t have to watch. Though if I hadn’t been there for almost two hours and not starting to lose my patience I might have asked to, because I have a gross fascination for the weirdest shit. But I was thankfully not that weird at that time.

The only hint that they were doing anything was the loud “MREOW!” that came from the actual clinic area of the hospital, and in all my cruel glory…I laughed a little.

But then I took her home and she was fine. She’s back to being a little shit, and we still taunt her about being the constipated kitty, because she can’t fight back. It was mildly amusing and made me very happy that it wasn’t a more extreme problem.

Plus, who doesn’t want to spend Christmas Eve cleaning out their cat’s ass?