This morning I noticed my oldest kitty – at 18-1/2 years – bleeding from her chin. My sister had suggested a vet someone recommended to her, so I looked them up and called. Small-town businesses aren’t big on appointments so they said “come on in!” and they would set me up with a vet when I got there. I piled my old girl into a cart, not the easiest maneuver after doing this a couple of weeks ago when moving here from 220 miles away, driving with 3 cats meowing in sync the entire time, but in she went and off we were.
Driving past pastures, old barns, farmhouses, seeing a skunk, a deer, and some kind of other furry wildass critter crossing my path, it was all country till I entered the intersections where the animal clinic sat on the edge of town, all about 15 miles from home. Pulling up I saw horse trailers lining the parking lot and the sign said “livestock” so I knew this was the place to be. They got almost 5 stars on Google so I felt confident they would take care of my old girl.
They called me in pretty quick as there were only a couple of other people in the waiting area, so we shuffled to our little exam room and waited. After the attendant came, took weight and temperature, then left, I started hearing sounds like mooing. Then more moo’s. I guess people actually bring those livestocks in for their exams, weight-taking, temperature-taking, and the whole gambit. But I can’t imaging ushering in a horse through these doors and down these halls, and into this tiny little room.
Maybe their rooms are bigger.
And my old girl? She’s great. Just feline acne. Yeah. It’s a thing.