Yesterday we took the cats in for their yearly check up. Normally, Mark doesn't go in for a yearly check up, so this really should mean that our cats are well cared for. Its not like we make them sleep in frozen mud puddles, never clean out their litter box, or feed them nothing but fudge. Though they might only want to eat fudge. Knowing all this, I still felt horrible when we found out Yuko was going to have to go in for serious dental surgery. So serious she may come out looking like one of those elderly people they parody with shriveled apples.
I knew Yuko had righteously bad breath, but I thought it might be diabetes. Or the fact she cleans her ass five times a day. Or prefers to only eat tuna. But no, it turns out, every tooth in her little jaw is rotting away; and that she is to gingivitis what Wellington was to Waterloo. Overrun. Nothing makes you feel quite as horrible as having your vet lecture you on your pet's eating habits. Especially, when you then get to pay for the resulting dental surgery.
Mushu on the other hand is like New York, battered, but standing. He lays around all day, eats continuously, is overweight (but not that overweight the vet says), and barely every cleans himself. He's fine, we haven't had to spend more then the $5 bucks on him since we bought him a new collar that Mark said was his bling.
Update: The gummer is home. She had to have 12 teeth pulled out! Leaving her with the stunning total of 6. Do you know how much pressure that puts on us as her owners? If she loses anymore I am worried PAWS will come and forcibly take her from our home. Mark says she is super wobbly, and can't quite figure out where she is, so she gets to stay in her carrying case tonight. The vet says to bring her litter box upstairs. Doesn't that figure, even toothless, and having cost us a mint she still gets first class service.
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