Sick Cat: Angi (Caution: Disgusting Descriptions)
I woke up Tuesday morning, late (nearly 9:00!), after an evening discussing Korean issues over a bit of makgeolli, beer, and wine (though not too much) with my old friend Yang Seung-Tae (Ewha Womans University, Political Science), who has very recently published a book on Korean identity (first volume of a trilogy).
I met Professor Yang way back in 1992, in Tuebingen, Germany, in a laundry room (and assisted him in operating one of the Teutonic cleaning machines there), only a few months after meeting my wife. Of course, Sun-Ae wasn't yet my wife when I met her, nor even by the time that I met Professor Yang some months later -- and in fact, I asked Professor Yang's advice on how best to deal with Sun-Ae's father in asking for her hand in marriage. He must have offered effective advice, for Sun-Ae and I got 'hitched' and have remained happy ever after since 1995 (and, indeed, since 1992).
But as I was saying, I woke up late.
Only to discover that one of our two cats -- Angi, the younger, male feline -- was deadly ill. Not necessarily fatally . . . but deadly if I didn't do something soon. I didn't know this for a fact, but I strongly suspected it. Angi had been off his feed and had thrown up several times the day before, which had worried me, but was now -- to my alarm -- leaking bloody urine! (Warned you this would be disgusting.)
After checking by email and phone with my wife, currently in Arkansas, I called a student whom I tutor and the two of us took Angi to a local veterinarian within walking distance. The place was closed. My student's mother drove over to pick us up and take us to another place. Closed. Then to another place. Also closed. My arms were getting tired holding Angi in a swaddling bath towel that was growing ever more bloody . . . with blood-infused urine.
We drove back to the original vet. Open for business! (Should've stayed there first time.)
The animal doctor spoke little English, and when my student had to leave, I was on my own, but my history of biology courses proved of some practical benefit after all as I deciphered his medical terminology and agreed to various proceedures. We (he) squeezed Angi's bladder to squirt the bloody pee from that swollen organ. We (he) then clipped Angi's claws, shaved a foreleg, and inserted a needle for an IV (that's "eye-vee," not the Roman numeral "four") -- all after first diagnosing "acute renal failure."
Eventually, everything was fixed, including a plastic cone 'fixed' to Angi's neck like "King Elizabeth's collar," according to the vet. I walked home carrying Angi, the IV-Drip, and a bag.
That was all done by 11:00 a.m., and I was already tired . . . but my day was in fact just beginning, for the remainder of the time in my apartment was occupied in cleaning up after Angi the suffering cat.
The entire day revolved around wiping his floor, wiping his fur, and wiping his private parts -- and constantly checking the IV-Drip.
This will go on again today . . .