For three weeks I’ve trailed behind our youngest cat, Patches, in an attempt to get a fecal sample for the veterinarian. We’d tried isolating her in a guest suite outfitted with a litter box in the bathroom and plenty of food and water in the adjoining bedroom, but that just traumatized her to th￼e point where instead of pooping, she peed on every imaginable surface and didn’t poop even a little bit.
It took me a day to clean everything and it’s taken even longer to soothe poor Patches’s nerves. I’ve had to mend a lot of fences with her, and she’s still pretty jumpy.
My next plan for getting a sample from her was to catch her in the act of pooping, thereby knowing for sure it was her poo and not Scout’s. Sounds fairly straightforward, right? Not with a traumatized Patches. We went a couple of days without seeing her at all, and while I knew she was using the litter box I couldn’t distinguish Patches’s Poo from Scout’s Scat.
I’d almost given up on ever getting a piece of Patches’s poo when this very morning I had the pleasure of seeing her make a deposit in the box. I’ll tell you I’ve not been this excited about watching a bowel movement since our youngest child was potty trained. I had to rein in my enthusiasm, though, so as not to interrupt her endeavors. Inside my head I was jumping with joy.
So this, friends, is Snapshot #270. We’re calling it, The Sweet Smell of Success.