Ennis Pussycat Problems
Wednesday was a close shave for the Ennis family. Our kitty hadn't been feeling very good lately. She suffers from a wee bit o' arthritis, but my Mom noticed that she'd been experiencing added difficulty moving around. So Mom made an appointment for Dixie Ennis to visit the vet.
The Ennis clan (Mom, my brother M.J. and I) is unusually attached to our furballs. Please note that we are, by no means, "animal people." We don't really do warm and fuzzy. Every conversation topic in our household is subject to dismissal, scrutiny, skepticism, a smart-ass comment or outright mockery. But not our kitty lovin'. Nuh Uh. That's sacred ground, and we freely express the depth of our devotion. For example, M.J. loved to hold Dixie when she was a baby, but she hated it. She'd meow and squirm and try to break free. M.J. ignored her protests and tried to pet and kiss her, explaining to anyone who'd listen, "She's mewing 'cause she loves me." Right.
Our first kitty, Snuggler, was with us from 1981 - 1991. My father passed away in '82. M.J. and I spent more time with, and were arguably closer to, the cat than our own father. In our experience, there were no mere wake up calls. Snuggler's passing, and my father's as well, came as life altering shockers whose effects were immediate and irreversible. On a freezing cold Chicago afternoon, my Dad complained of chest pains. He left in an ambulance, and by 5 o'clock he was gone. With Snuggler, we went into the vet with an occupied kitty carrier, but left with an empty one. Before we agreed to put him to sleep, my mother actually considered getting the cat a kidney transplant! Sure, she bought the cheap Band-Aids for us, but the cat was going to get Garfield's plastic surgeon! I vividly recall going as a family to see "Backdraft" that night, and we bawled shamelessly in the darkened theater. We also downed our body weight in popcorn and SnowCaps.
So naturally, upon hearing of Dixie's declining mobility and upcoming trip to the Saw-Bones, we feared the worst. Full kitty carrier one minute, empty kitty carrier the next. It's practically expected with us. Once someone mentions a possible "uh-oh" scenario, the Ennis' are already in aftermath mode, dreaming up the next imminent disaster. Better to be prepared than blindsided. That's our motto.
The good news is that Dixie is going to be O.K. (Pray for her speedy recovery, though. She's old and could use the positive energy.) So what was wrong with her fat, lazy behind? Hemerrhoids. Sorta. Most four-legged animals have these sacks of fluid on each side of their back end, cushioning their brown eye. Frequently dogs' sacks can become too full and cause serious discomfort and swelling. Since Dixie is such a non-comformist, her cat booty sacks were inflamed big time. So much so that during the operation, when the vet went to lance the first sack, the excess fluid squirted all over him. (Hah! Hah! That's my kitty. She leaves quite an impression, huh?) A trooper to the core, though, the Dr. was able to regain his composure, thus turning his attention to the successful clearing of the sack. That should be the hot new insult. "Oh, yeah? You want to start somethin'? Why don't you clear my sack, pal?"
Dixie is, without a doubt, a true Ennis. Not only does she bear our last name, but she seems to have inherited our same struggles with crappy teeth, weight issues and a unpredictable butt. Mom, M.J., Shannon and Dixie need to floss like muthas, watch what we eat and never leave home without our travel-size TUMS and Pepto. We don't have kingdom, phylum, genus or species classifications in common, but we share what's really important: a bathroom.
**This entry is dedicated to Jimmy Carter, the cat , not the President.**
posted by Shannon E. Ennis at
Friday, May 13, 2005
The Ennis clan (Mom, my brother M.J. and I) is unusually attached to our furballs. Please note that we are, by no means, "animal people." We don't really do warm and fuzzy. Every conversation topic in our household is subject to dismissal, scrutiny, skepticism, a smart-ass comment or outright mockery. But not our kitty lovin'. Nuh Uh. That's sacred ground, and we freely express the depth of our devotion. For example, M.J. loved to hold Dixie when she was a baby, but she hated it. She'd meow and squirm and try to break free. M.J. ignored her protests and tried to pet and kiss her, explaining to anyone who'd listen, "She's mewing 'cause she loves me." Right.
Our first kitty, Snuggler, was with us from 1981 - 1991. My father passed away in '82. M.J. and I spent more time with, and were arguably closer to, the cat than our own father. In our experience, there were no mere wake up calls. Snuggler's passing, and my father's as well, came as life altering shockers whose effects were immediate and irreversible. On a freezing cold Chicago afternoon, my Dad complained of chest pains. He left in an ambulance, and by 5 o'clock he was gone. With Snuggler, we went into the vet with an occupied kitty carrier, but left with an empty one. Before we agreed to put him to sleep, my mother actually considered getting the cat a kidney transplant! Sure, she bought the cheap Band-Aids for us, but the cat was going to get Garfield's plastic surgeon! I vividly recall going as a family to see "Backdraft" that night, and we bawled shamelessly in the darkened theater. We also downed our body weight in popcorn and SnowCaps.
So naturally, upon hearing of Dixie's declining mobility and upcoming trip to the Saw-Bones, we feared the worst. Full kitty carrier one minute, empty kitty carrier the next. It's practically expected with us. Once someone mentions a possible "uh-oh" scenario, the Ennis' are already in aftermath mode, dreaming up the next imminent disaster. Better to be prepared than blindsided. That's our motto.
The good news is that Dixie is going to be O.K. (Pray for her speedy recovery, though. She's old and could use the positive energy.) So what was wrong with her fat, lazy behind? Hemerrhoids. Sorta. Most four-legged animals have these sacks of fluid on each side of their back end, cushioning their brown eye. Frequently dogs' sacks can become too full and cause serious discomfort and swelling. Since Dixie is such a non-comformist, her cat booty sacks were inflamed big time. So much so that during the operation, when the vet went to lance the first sack, the excess fluid squirted all over him. (Hah! Hah! That's my kitty. She leaves quite an impression, huh?) A trooper to the core, though, the Dr. was able to regain his composure, thus turning his attention to the successful clearing of the sack. That should be the hot new insult. "Oh, yeah? You want to start somethin'? Why don't you clear my sack, pal?"
Dixie is, without a doubt, a true Ennis. Not only does she bear our last name, but she seems to have inherited our same struggles with crappy teeth, weight issues and a unpredictable butt. Mom, M.J., Shannon and Dixie need to floss like muthas, watch what we eat and never leave home without our travel-size TUMS and Pepto. We don't have kingdom, phylum, genus or species classifications in common, but we share what's really important: a bathroom.
**This entry is dedicated to Jimmy Carter, the cat , not the President.**
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