News on the cat front

The other day, Alvar had a bit sore eyes so I checked, flushed his eyes with artificial tears, yes, the cat let me use eye drops, and noticed that his breath smells of July dumpster. I checked his gums, yes, the cat let me stick fingers in his mouth, although he was not particularly happy, and the gums and teeth did not look exactly stellar. Swelling, some calculi... so I called the vet. After all, no idea whether he is chipped or vaccinated or anything.

Poor creature, half of his teeth is rotten. He got antibiotics, antibiotic ointment and on Saturday, the bad teeth are going to be removed. I bought soft food, too, because it somehow did not occur to me that he was not eating because of achy teeth. And I was angry at the shelter, I got him five days ago with a clear bill of health, or, to be exact, No visible traces of health issues. Apparently, nobody bothered to open his mouth. Or sniff around.

Alvar must've been hungry, he inhaled almost a whole can and trotted around, visibly happier. Later on, I found out that he neatly threw it all up, almost untouched, on the bathroom mat. Well, I needed to do the laundry anyway. Alas, he doesn't consider the medication a treat so I need to feed it to him, which includes holding his mouth open and it apparently hurts, today morning, he screamed to high heaven. Eye ointment is fine.

Zoe wanders around and when she sees me, she runs away. Half of the time, I have no idea that she's there so if she sat still and pretended to be a stone, I wouldn't notice at all.

Cat update

I was approved to adopt Zoe. The owner needs to surrender her because she's on a diet and when she eats normal cat food, she pees all over and when she's isolated from the other cats, she is angry and sad because she likes company... and I proved to be sane enough, or the owner just liked me.
The British Shorthair's name is Adam and I'm picking him on Thursday. I hope he and Zoe get on well.
I mailed that friend of mine and told her that, well, sorry for the delay but I needed to think about it, you know, the cats just heaped on me and such, but I'll take Agata, two or three, it doesn't matter. Oh fuck, she said, just today morning, a lady took her for a trial run. With said friend, I have an abysmally bad timing, apparently. She offered me Cake the Pirate Cat but only to go with her best friend Pig (a cat called Pig, to be exact) and while Cake is a dear, I don't want four, for goodness' sake.
Off to buy a cat tree. Pictures will certainly follow.

When it rains, it pours

The Central Registry of Cats aimed its eyes or radars or chemoreceptors at me.

I was intermittently whining to a friend how much I miss Max. On Monday, she said I have a cat for you and pointed me to an offer of a Russian Blue commenting that she's not exactly British but blue enough, and she's even on a diet. I was thinking about it, after all, life has been a bit messy and maybe adding a cat to it might not be the best idea but then I thought that damn it, a cat won't make it any worse and contacted the shelter lady who gave me more information, vouched for me with the owner... and the thing started getting rolling.
On Tuesday, the shelter lady from whom I got Max messaged me whether, just in case, I would not want another British Shorthair. Oh fuck, I thought to myself, I was sort of vouched to adopt the Russian, looked at the picture (squee! Plushy kitty! The widdle ears!), thought about it for about two seconds whether it is reasonable to get two cats and decided that bite it, asked vet friend whether a healthy cat can eat urinary protection diet - yes, sure, it's a good prevention of urinary problems - and said that, well, yeah, I'll adopt him. After all, the Russian likes company.
On Wednesday, I told about this to a friend and she responded Oh fuck, I just wanted to ask you whether you wouldn't adopt our Agata, the other cats bully her and don't let her pee and eat... I told her that, ahem... well, I'll think about it.