Cone of shame

Today is one of my easy days. I don’t go into work until 1:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was part of the arrangement when I started the job, that I can take kickboxing classes because I’d rather be jobless than miss a class. I’m that addicted.

Well, today I ran some errands this morning and went to kickboxing. I got to work at 1:00 P.M., and about as soon as I had put all my stuff away and logged into my computer my cell phone rang. I normally don’t answer calls with numbers I don’t know, but the people at H&R Block have been calling me for the past three days to reschedule my tax appointment. I didn’t want to miss another rescheduling, so I answered. Instead of H&R Block, though, it was the vet.

We’d gone in last week because Catterson had an eye infection. She’d been experiencing all the symptoms of an eye infection–goopy eye discharge, winkiness, red third eyelid–but all separately, none at the same time. I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, but the vet said it was most definitely an eye infection.

So, the call form the vet today was the one-week check-up. I told her that the cat had been pawing the ointment out of her eye when we put it in her eye. Heck, I would too if someone put goop in my eye.

The vet recommended I come in right away since she was about to leave. I left work… an hour after I’d gotten there to go pick up the cat and take her to the vet.

When we arrived, there was a man and woman coming out of an exam room, petless, the woman was sobbing and the man was holding her. He paid the bill, and I heard something along the lines of, “We just need some time to decide.” Then I watched them go outside, lean on their car, and cry into each others arms. I had to hold back my own tears as I tried not to look at them.

Then the vet called us in. The crying couple had made me nervous, and Lyra started to meow in that sad, “I want to be home spying squirrels in the window, not here” kind of way.

The vet put a cone collar on Lyra, after she hissed and batted at the poor woman. After that, she got stuck in the doorway of her carrier. It was halfway sad and halfway funny. I felt bad for her when she got stuck on the carpet, then laughed, then felt bad for laughing.

I feel like my cat’s is my kid, and I just want her to be the happy, trotting kitty that meows at you in the middle of the night and purrs in your ear.

I feel like she’s a pouty sad kitty. Like the cone collar is the cone of shame from “UP.” I keep telling Sean not to call it that. Our poor baby cat has nothing to be ashamed of!

But seriously, I’m glad to take care of her, because I never want to be those people who have to make sad decisions in the veterinarian’s parking lot. I want my cat to live forever.


Trying to rid herself of the cone collar.



Sadly accepting the cone collar.



Winky eye, still infected 😦



Trying to get a view out the window since she can't fit on the window sill with the cone collar.

My poor baby cat!



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