take one oldmancat, subtract teeth

Most of em, anyway. The ones that were left. All eight of em.

(okay this picture isn’t really related but he did fall asleep sitting up over his food bowl, pretty adorably)

a small black cat, sitting up but with head drooping & eyes closed, over a bowl of food

His teeth had been bothering him for, well, probably longer than I knew about, but I admit I didn’t do anything about it for a LONG time, cos I knew it’d require full anesthesia, & well. He’s NINETEEN. That’s a little terrifying.

But I finally worked up my courage (& the money, a not inconsiderable sum) & made the appointment. He went in a week & some ago for a pre-op checkup, during which the vet asked me three times if I was sure about his age. Also he climbed up on her shoulder & flopped there, quite comfortably, which made me feel a little less terrified about the whole thing.

(also not related, but warm oldmancat flopped on warm laundries, definitely adorable)

a small black cat, flopped quite comfortably in a pile of many-coloured laundry

& then Monday morning he went in for the Great Detoothing. They asked me to leave a phone number, which I did, but also I told them I was staying there until he was done, which surprised them. I’m not sure why. I mean, I was going to do anything other than worry? I might as well worry there.

There was occasional oldmancat shouting from in back, & eventually the vet came out to tell us that he was doing fine & they’d cleaned three of his teeth & the other five were, indeed, going to have to come out. I nodded, slightly relieved.

Some time later she returned to say that the teeth were out, he was recovering fine, & he just needed to sleep it off, but the worst was over. At which point I decided it was safe to go home, & slept for four hours straight until it was time to pick him up.

…see, I hadn’t slept the night _before_, due partly to worrying, but mostly to the fact that I couldn’t feed him after 9pm, which gave him reason to shout. The whole. Night. Long.

Anyway, sleep. Followed by driving down to pick him up. Followed by climbing back into bed with him, at least once I’d removed his very stylish IV bandage.

A small black cat with a red bandage (very stylish indeed) wrapped around his foreleg. He looks less than thrilled.

They even used his signature red!

He was very happy to be home & expressed this by very deliberately flopping where he could rest various parts of him on various parts of me.

A small black cat, eyes closed, chin resting on the hand of a white person. The cat is quite vigorously asleep.

Also, there was eating. In a clearly-less-ow sort of way.

This time he's awake, & his face is firmly in the food bowl.

But mostly, there was flopping. & in fact, we really didn’t get up til the next morning.

Still vigorously asleep, this time with a forepaw stretched out, holding firmly to the hand, which likely belongs to the same white person.

I mean who’d want to get up when there’s an oldmancat wanting to hold paws?

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