My poor cat has a urinary tract blockage. My poor Bud. He just squatted in the litterbox for like ten minutes, straining out a niggardly trickle of pee. And he peed on the bathmat recently, unheard of for him, and in fact appeared to have peed just outside the box once before, since the underside of it was all covered in ammonia-smelling cat piss. Which, one of the symptoms of cat urinary tract blockage is they like to piss on a “cool, smooth surface.” This is bad shit. Your cat could die, although, I just picked him up and his abdomen doesn’t appear to be in any pain. So, you know, this isn’t life-threateningly serious. I made an appointment to take him to the vet tomorrow. Who knows. The internet says that shit just goes away sometimes.
I would be fucking devastated if my cat died. I love my fluffy little boognish. Every time one of those Sarah McLaughlin ASPCA ads comes on with the forlorn-looking cats and dogs I think: man, I love my cat. Thank God I adopted my cat so he doesn’t have to sit in some concrete cell behind that elementary-school type wire fence looking morosely at the camera with a little bit of weird crust in his eyes to show you how hard he has it. Like, you know some cat makeup guy went to wipe off the eye crust with a wet rag but the director or somebody went “no: leave it.”