He's twenty, which is about the same as 99 for you or me. He moves pretty slowly but he gets around. And, as happens with age, his digestion bothers him. Right now he poor old guy is so stopped up he is overtaken by the need to strain every few minutes, no matter where he is.
Oh, he gets fiber; he gets only canned cat food and a bit of oil, too. But he still gets stopped up. He is quite mortified by it, as tomcats often are. And he's had worse episodes.
I got out the cat-carrier, figuring in there he won't absent-mindedly stop, strain and wet all over the floor. Tommy Cat took one look at the carrier...and hopped right in. Maybe he's hoping for a trip to the cat-doctor. ...Sadly, I can't really afford the rates the 24-hour vet charges right now and my own recent health problems have left me with scant energy for the drive. Hoping to take him to the regular vet tomorrow if his problem hasn't, er, moved by then.
One Evening On Kansas II
1 week ago