My cat ate a condom.
My cat. ATE. A condom.
See, like most adults in a committed relationship, The Boy and I *gasp* have sex. Last time we did so at my place, we threw the condom out into the bathroom trashcan, carefully swaddled like a newborn in toilet paper.
Fitzy, GENIUS that he is, dug it out of the trash on Wednesday morning. This is actually the second time he did so, the first time being the day after the act took place. I had at that time put it back in the trash, thinking nothing of it. Wednesday morning, however, I was up ONLY to pee, because it was like 3 or 4 am, and I decided I would deal with it when I got up to shower. At which time the condom, which apparently has its own spot on the bathroom rug, was gone. I looked around to see if it got lodged under a closet door or something but couldn’t find it. “Oh well,” I thought, “It’s probably around somewhere, I will look more thoroughly later.”
A more thorough search did not produce the offending rubber.
I wondered. I worried. I gave him the GNC brand version of Laxatone, the kitty intestinal lubricant that has helped my little moron pass numerous rubber bands and ribbons (I keep hiding them and he KEEPS FINDING THEM, and more importantly, EATING THEM.) He acted completely fine. Kept pooping, kept playing, kept eating, kept hydrating.
SMASH CUT to this morning. 5 am. Fitz is in the hallway, horking. Not unusual, in and of itself. Cats vomit. No big deal. Except it sounded wet and squishy, and most terrifyingly, WHISTLY. So I get up, try to look down his throat (yeah, he did NOT love that) and then gave him some more faux-laxatone. (He LOVES the real stuff, but petsmart stopped carrying it, and the GNC brand is NOT as good apparently.) He immediately is fine, no more horking (and nothing had been produced at this point) and we get back in bed. Minutes later, I hear a new noise.
I seriously thought that the upstairs neighbors were having vigorous sex on brand new furniture above me before I realized it was Fitz, happily purring. It sounded like really stiff springs being compressed and decompressed rhythmically, or the slightest squeezing of an accordion. I give him more faux-laxatone, and again he is immediately fine. But by now I am panicked. I call the emergency vet in Beltsville, because it is the only one within a half hour drive from me. (Which drives me CRAZY, let me just say. They’re not even 24 hour, so if you need to leave your pet for 24 hours, you have to come get him or her at 8 am, take them to the regular vet, then get them from the regular vet at 5 or whenever they close and take them back to the emergency vet.) They say come in just in case, and I do.
I spent $300 and 3 hours dealing with my cat emergency (to be fair, $50 of that was for rabies vaccinations for both cats, as they needed to be renewed. Fitzy freaks out a billion times more at the vet if Zelda doesn’t go with him, so both kitties visited the vet this morning.) And when we got home, I took a nap to sort of catch up on sleep, and then I changed the litter before taking them to mom and dad’s (we’re celebrating my birthday today.) In the box, there was a good 90% of a condom. I will spare you the tale of how I figured out how much condom had passed, but rest assured, it was gross.
Unsurprisingly, I have not skated today. I did bring my laundry home, though, so yay, bedspread that doesn’t smell like pee!!
I’ll tell you about the Nerdist live podcast in a later post!