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 the 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.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 