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bear by san

March 2017



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problem cat

and i don't mind dying but for the love of you

Complaint Department: I shall nap in this sunbeam, and all shall be well.
Monkey: *sneaks*
Complaint Department: Fear! Fire! Foes! Sherpa Bag! MURDER! MURDER MOST FOUL!
Monkey: Sorry about that, but it's Rabies Shot Time. Also, we're going to have a little talk with that nice Dr. Pomper about cats who are inconsistent about using the litterbox.
Complaint Department: You wouldn't dare.
Monkey: Try me.
Complaint Department: It's a recognized form of social protest.
Monkey: And this is why the Soviets instituted Gulags. Come on, into the car.
Complaint Department: *complains*
Monkey: *drives*
Complaint Department: *complains*
Monkey: *parks*
Complaint Department: *complains*
Reception Monkey: My, she's certainly a vocal one.
Monkey: We call her the Complaint Department around the house. She has a complaint.
Complaint Department: *sings arias of complaint*
Reception Monkey: I can see that.
Complaint Department: You can see how I'm being treated! And now I'm LOCKED IN A BOX in a ROOM with DOGS and OTHER CATS. Don't you know who I am?!
Monkey: They have your chart. I'm sure they do.
Reception Monkey: Complaint Department, room 3. The nice Dr. Pomper will see you now.
Monkey: There, see? All safe and quiet now. Would you like to come out of that box?
Complaint Department: *emerges hesitantly*
Complaint Department: I smell dogs.
Monkey: So do I.
That Nice Dr. Pomper: So what do we have here today? Rabies vaccination and checkup?
Monkey: Yes please. Also, we have this little... social issue.
Complaint Department: Oh, no, you don't.
That Nice Dr. Pomper: Peeing outside the litterbox, are we? How old is she?
Monkey: Fourteen or fifteen. She's a rescue: we can't be sure. But old enough that I'm concerned about diabetes and liver function. As well as, you know. Evil.
Complaint Department: I can't believe you're discussing my medical details with a total stranger.
Monkey: He's your vet. And I'm going to go home and tell the Internet, anyway.
That Nice Dr. Pomper: Well, I agree with your diagnosis of evil, but that's not acute; it's chronic. Well, we'll take some blood and a urine, and if that's all clear, we'll figure out what to do about the behavioral issues.
Monkey: Already tried moving the litterbox, moving her food to where she was peeing, adding another litterbox, making sure she had quiet time away from the other animals, excluding her from the room she was peeing in--
That Nice Dr. Pomper: Well, there's always valium. It works very well in stubborn cases.
Monkey: Hear that, CD? Kitty Prozac is on the horizon if you don't shape up.
Complaint Department: 0.0
That Nice Dr. Pomper: Right. Just going to shave her throat and draw some blood here--
Complaint Department: 0.0 0.o
That Nice Dr. Pomper: Oh good, I can palpate some pee in there. And now we'll take a sterile urine sample with a hypodermic--
Complaint Department: !!!!!
Monkey: She will bite.
That Nice Dr. Pomper: So would I. There, that wasn't so bad, was it?
Complaint Department: I hate you all.
Monkey: You did this to yourself. I tried to warn you.
That Nice Dr. Pomper: Results should be back in a couple of days! See you outside!
Complaint Department: I'm a celebrity. Get me out of here!


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Someone also had to have her urine taken with a needle, and there was much unhappiness. Many unlady like things were said as well as the occasional attempt to draw her own blood sample from the vet and the techs.
Well, I agree with your diagnosis of evil, but that's not acute; it's chronic.

This is one of the best sentences in the history of the English language.

Just sayin'.

While the whole episode is extremely funny and one I can certainly related to being the human dirt slave whose thumbs should be used for opening more gushy food more often, that sentence cracked me up to the point of splorfing water all over my desk. I retained enough self-control to miss the laptop. Barely.
Dear Complaint Dept.
We are here for you. We feel your pain. Your monkey is a bad monkey who introduces d-o-g-s and does not respect you. Pee on her! Pee on her bed! Resist. And spit out the nasty valium.
Your ally in the Widdle-Wars,
The Tasmanian Tortoiseshell has her appointment with the nice vet on Friday morning for shots and a checkup. I suspect there will be similar unhappinesses on her part.
I'm pretty sure it's a swipe of a pH strip across the tongue.
Poor, maligned Complaint Department. I am sure her "evil" is simply misunderstood perfection.
Greenies! I bribe her with greenies!
Been there, heard that aria, sometimes in 3 part disharmony when we had more catses.
It pains me to say so, but that other cat above, the one who does not exist, is not entirely wrong.

Dear Complaint Department: I find pissing in the food apes' socks to be particularly amusing.

Yours in solidarity,
Dear Complaint Department:

You are older and wiser than I and I must take lessons. The only time I've been doing my business outside the litter box is when it isn't clean enough for my delicate sensibilities. I've been pooping right near it as a message to my monkey that she's not being a good monkey and cleaning it regularly. Maybe I should escalate with liquid protest. I bow to your age and experience.

Love and respect,

Sophie Sestina Silverstein
The Tortie Calico at Chez scarlettina

Dear Complaint Department:

Such tutelage is not appreciated.

No love,

I still think there's a book in this stuff. Waiting patiently.
*giggle* You are hilarious :)

I hope CD turns out to be okay.
Towards the end with Peaby, he was peeing outside the litterbox. We discovered that getting him a shallower litterbox really helped.
This also worked with my Laren.
Anti-anxiety drugs worked a miracle on my cat when we got kittens and she realized they weren't going away and started peeing everywhere and none of the other tricks worked. She'd always been a stressed and anxious rescue cat, and quite nervous of us. She's been off the drugs for a year now, and still no thinking outside the box and better yet--she asks, no demands, attention from the male monkey, whom she had mostly avoided for her ten years in our household.

I'm a fan of better living through chemicals on this one.

(And really enjoyed this!)
My Little Old Man (he's 20) sympathizes with your Complaint Department. He says to tell her that if you just get old enough, the monkeys stop taking you to the vet, and the vet comes to you.
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