Look at my back. Just look at it. . . my handsome tabby pattern interrupted by the cruel buzz of a cold, uncaring set of fur clippers, leaving behind a humiliating (yet nicely symmetrical) patch of naked skin.
And why do I have a naked square on my back? It's for where the SHOTS go!
That's right. I'm Wendell. I'm 11 years old, I am ridiculously good-looking, I'm addicted to catnip, and two weeks ago, Mom found out I had feline diabetes.
I woke Mom up early on Saturday morning with my meowing, and she got up to check on me, and I was panting. Panting like a dog! (This was not my finest moment, I admit.) As it turns out, I was really stressed because I couldn't pee. Mom knew that's a really serious thing, especially for a boy kitty, so she rushed me to the vet.
I didn't have a blockage like the vet thought. In fact, when she took me into the back room for an X-Ray, and she pressed on my belly, I finally peed--all over one of the vet techs!
I DID have a bladder infection, which the vet said was weird for a boy kitty. (Mom, who is nothing if not proud, would like me to also mention that the vet said I was one of the best-behaved kitties she'd ever met. I am nothing if not charming.) She also said that she noticed my pee was "dilute" and that almost definitely meant diabetes or kidney disease. She took some of my blood to test something called my blood sugar. Normal is under 200. Mine was over 500. I thought that meant I was really, really good at playing blood sugar, but it turns out the blood sugar game is like golf--you don't want a really high score.
So now I get shots twice a day of something called insulin. I don't really notice the shots. I have that part down.
But Mom is still really worried. I'm supposed to be switching my food, but every time she tries to give me my new lower-carb food, I won't eat it. So I'm still on the high-carb stuff. And she's getting all sorts of different advice from the vet (who said not to try to test my blood) to the people on the Internets (who said she should totally test my blood) to me (who will stab her in the eye with my claw if she tries to suck my blood). So we're still learning.
And spending. After I ate a piece of plastic in 2007. and after I had to have all my fangs removed because of genetic gum disease, and after my luxating patella (AKA dislocated knee), Mom said I was her million dollar cat. Now she says I'm her billion dollar cat!
If anyone has any advice, Mom love to hear them. We already belong to the Kitty Diabetes message board but remember, Mom is human and therefore inferior in every way and needs all the advice she can get.