Zoey: The New Normal

Zoey doesn't squirm. Wrapped tightly in a towel, she looks like a terrycloth burrito with a striped head poking out. The tiny scratches on my hands and forearms are beginning to heal. I've finally figured out a way to not only administer the pill solo but to restrain those very sharp claws. I tilt the burrito back until her head rests between my knees.

I stroke her head, speaking in my softest calm voice. On days that I'm nervous, I notice that she echoes my emotional distress and squirms more, so I try my very best to relax.

I draw a deep relaxing breath myself and begin. I coax her mouth open and stuff the pill popper tool inside. Before she can resist or gag, the pill has already made it down her throat. I hold her mouth closed for a moment until I see her swallow and then tilt her upright again. I am so thankful that she's grown to trust me, even if she will never understand why I do this to her.

I set the pill tool on the floor and turn her around in my lap. My Zoey burrito rolls on the floor until I'm able to unwrap her. Once she's free from the towel, she parks herself next to her food dish just a couple feet away. Even though she doesn't like pill time, she no longer hides from me afterward. Just two weeks into treatment, she has learned that every pill garners her something delicious and she patiently awaits the reward. Today it's chicken. She gobbles it down, then looks up, expecting more.

Throughout the first few months of treatment, a trip back to the vet for lab work is required. Zoey and I sit patiently on the bench, waiting our turn. Zoey doesn't appear nervous, but she recoils in her carrier when noisy dogs pass. They take her into the back room and a few minutes later return. She's already working on beautifying her fur surrounding the needle site by the time I take care of the bill. The technician compliments Zoey's cooperative demeanor and I nod, thankful that this process isn't any more difficult. She goes on to explain that some cats require sedation or a whole team of staff to restrain, but Zoey just lies there. We'll find out the results early next week and determine how to proceed with treatment from there.

I don't know how this position is comfortable.

I hate that the remainder of her days will include frequent visits to the vet and daily pills, but she doesn't seem bothered by it. Once she's free of our poking and prodding, she's fine. I know that it won't always be this easy, but for right now, I'm happy that we've established a routine that doesn't stress either of us too much.