“Mr. Pumblechook appeared to conduct his business by looking across the street at the saddler, who appeared to transact his business by keeping his eye on the coach-maker, who appeared to get on in life by putting his hands in his pockets and contemplating the baker, who in his turn folded his arms and stared at the grocer, who stood at his door and yawned at the chemist. The watch-maker, always poring over a little desk with a magnifying glass at his eye and always inspected by a group of smock-frocks poring over him through the glass of his shop-window, seemed to be about the only person on the street whose trade engaged his attention.” Great Expectations

That just about describes my life these days. I know, you folks with actual jobs and places to go are singing me a swan song right about now. Hey! You try it! I spend my days walking from window to window repeating the words from Proverbs, “all toil is profitable.” Lately, toil includes following Tigger around the house making sure he breathes.

I’m sure y’all are ready for another cat story. Apparently Tigger was a little jealous of all the attention his older sister was getting via the Internet so he decided it was HIS turn.

The bouncy-flouncy, fun, fun, fun Mister has been the picture of health and vitality throughout his life; he flies through the air like a kitten and LAUGHS at the days to come. That is, until Sunday. He had been doing this funny little yoga move over the past few weeks and it was KIND OF concerning to me. KIND OF, because a trip to the vet with him is always a challenge. The next-door neighbors at South Park Hospital are acutely aware when Tigger has an appointment. Consequently I typically hesitate before setting out on such an adventure. Anyway, back to Tigger’s newfound interest in eastern religion. He would purr, cough, and then lay out sort of horizontal and hack. And hack. And hack and hack and hack.

At first I thought, “hairball.” A couple weeks into his new yoga pose, however, I began to be concerned because no hairball “surfaced,” if you know what I mean. Then Sunday he wouldn’t stop. He would lay on his back and purrrr…. “pet my tummy…” and then HACK.HACK.HACK.

Hack.HACK.Hack.

So after church Sunday night, that will have to be explained in a different post, I searched the Internet for what appeared to be Cat Asthma. Sure enough, there was a YouTube. Some guy, out of concern for other cat owners, posted his cat having an asthma attack that had been undiagnosed. “David” SHE is called, yes, I said “she” would HackHACKhack just like Tigger! I felt the blood drain from my head to my toes (would I now be expected to give Tigger mouth-to-mouth?) and promptly called the emergency vet to see what to do. They, of course, for $86.50 recommended he be brought in immediately as this was considered an emergency situation.

I packed Tigger into his sweet lil carrier with the Sherpa lining and drove him to the seedy part of town where a vet half my age (and size) awaited his arrival.

Now this is why I write this story, and those of you familiar with “The Day the Cat Died” http://2meem.com/2008/05/18/the-day-the-cat-died/ will recognize the irony.

I was checked in immediately at the Carolina Pet Emergency facility—I mean why would there be a rush in a PET emergency room on a Sunday night anyway—and was escorted to a stainless steel room. A nurse (? is that what they are called?) took Tigger’s “vitals” and since his gums weren’t blue she decided we could have our conversation without an oxygen mask. On Tigger, silly.

I proceeded to describe the horizontal yoga pose with great detail; the purr, the pose, the hack.HACK.hack and she did her perfunctory, “hmmmm.” She finished her evaluation and picked up Tigger, Sherpa and all, and announced she would be taking him for further observation, and to get his temperature. Great. Out the back door she disappeared.

Why do vets have a front AND back door in the exam room? Do you suppose they design it that way just in case someone needs an escape route? I guess if you try to monitor temperature the way they do with animals, a safe and quick escape route is a good idea. Only a designer would think such thoughts. A designer with a LOT of time on her hands.

So off behind Door Number 2 the little “nurse” went while I pulled up a stainless steel chair and proceeded to stare out the window.

Five minutes passed

Ten minutes passed, did I mention it was dark outside and I could not actually see anything out the window anyway?

After fifteen minutes the nurse pops her head back through Door Number 2 and announces that the Doctor will want to do an X-ray. Or two. Maybe 3. That will be $120, $130 or more. “What’s up with the ala carte practice at the Animal Hospital” I start to wonder, and then ask lil nurse to explain what all of it means. Do I get an X-ray for Tigger only to find out he needs a $1500 surgery? Y’all remember Bob works in the banking industry, right? Cat surgery isn’t in the budget. She patiently explains that the Doctor thinks there might be a blockage, not asthma, and they need to see where. “Ok,” I say, and lil nurse tells me she will keep me up to date, and then vanishes again through Door Number 2.

That was 8:45pm.

9:00 rolls around. Nothing.

9:10, nothing.

9:30 still nothing.

9:45pm in pops Dr. You-can’t-be-old-enough-for-liquor- (and would NOT be serve at PF Changs) something (who remembers) and she…..

sits down….

and proceeds to triage Tigger (who isn’t in the room, by-the-way) AGAIN. “Thanks for being so patient,” she begins –was I being patient?- and asks me to describe Cat-Cow stretch for her in Veterinary terms. So I again describe purr-pose-hackHACKhack and she looks at me with a kind of weird expression on her freckled face.

Here’s the punchline.

Wait for it….

She says I’m sorry, “but I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

First I laughed. Then I fell backwards from the stainless steel table into a stainless steel chair and said, “NO way! You DID NOT just say that!” Now I need the triage.

Long story short (oh, too late for that? Too bad, I have no life) I made sure Tigger was stable, demanded my Sherpa-packed kitty and paid my $86.50 before marching out the “hospital” entrance.

This story does not end quite as sweet as the other, however. The next day I took Tigger to his vet and an X-ray revealed an either bad case of pneumonia (not-likely) or lung cancer. He has some medicine to take for the next week to find out if the mass will shrink and next week we will re X-ray for the results.

I spend my days (between actual responsibilities…really!) walking between the rooms of our house to check if Tigger is breathing, yet I tread cautiously so that I don’t make him happy and therefore purr. And hack.Hack.hack.

Gives new meaning to Cat Scan. I’ll keep y’all updated.