House, MD--"Medical Disaster"

Adam is going to kill me. Well, he might torture me a bit if he doesn't slice me and dice me first.

This morning I had to take Gregory House to the vet for a teeth cleaning. If you haven't met him, you don't know about the atrocious breath he's been sporting since he entered our household. However, his perpetual skin allergies have been so all-consuming that the vet hasn't wanted to subject my poor kitty to yet another medical procedure until that was under control. At the latest visit to the vet (he's been there about 4 or 5 times since we inherited him 6 months ago), I was told that his teeth really needed to be cleaned, and we couldn't wait any longer. I booked the appointment.

I was quoted an obscene amount of money for the cleaning, but figured that it would be a one-time deal, his early Xmas present, so I went with it. House deserves to have a healthy set of chompers, and I deserve to breathe fresh air when I'm around his meow-ing mouth. However, the vet assistant just called me at work with the ever-dreaded, "do you have a few minutes?" I thought for sure she was going to tell me my little boy had died on the table. Just as my tears were starting to well up, she instead informed me that his dentistry is in much worse shape than they thought and several of his teeth would have to be extracted, virtually doubling the original obscene amount. I let her talk, all the while saying to myself, "There is NO way I'm paying for this. This was a stray cat that I took pity on; I am NOT going to break the bank over him." When she finished, I responded in a flat tone, "I can't do it. I've got a baby on the way. Even the original quote was pushing it." She conceded, and said she'd talk further with the doctor to see what he could do.

I hung up feeling only mildly satisfied with my authoritative and command decision. We are saving for the arrival of a baby, after all; I can't throw away good money on this cat.

But then my mind started to wander...to the days of Shabbi and Kika, when we would spare no expense on their health, safety and well-being, when we didn't think of them as "animals" but instead as our family. We dropped tons of money on Shabbi right up till the end of her life. How could I not do the same for my young and vibrant little kitty boy?

I called the clinic back and immediately told the vet assistant to do what needed to be done, that I would pay. When she asked if I were sure, I said "yes, he's my boy and I can't skimp on his health," before I could change my mind. She assured me that since a)he's a stray that I rescued, and b)I've spent so much money on him to this point already, they would try to tap into their kitty fund that would help alleviate some of the cost. That's a bit of a relief. It'll be an even bigger relief when I see my little kid, awake and bouncing around again.

But...I'm hoping that a few days go by before Adam decides to check my blog. And I'll slice and dice ANY of you that tries to tell him first.