Ein went to the vet today. And while his name has always been a little weird - pronounced E-In - it never donged on me that one might NOT know how to say it. "Ine" is how they called him to room four. You know, like "ei" = I. Hmmmm. I did not see that coming.
E-in is a rescue cat, picked up on the streets of New York City and sheltered by Mary's Kitty Korner, a no-kill shelter. (Do you know how hard it was to type that K on Corner???)
This behemoth beast weighed in at 14.8 pounds, which was not the least bit shocking. What was a surprise was this: "He is a little chubby, but he's definitely not obese. He has a large build." So there you go. He's not as fat as I thought he was. E-in, defying the odds since New York City.
We paid $194 today for his visit (Connecticut pricing), which included two shots, a fecal exam, a basic check-up that found his temperature normal, but was achieved rectally, which disturbed Benjy to no end, a "medical waste fee", and a bonus round of antibiotics for Emma's halitosis. The dog's breath is nothing short of lethal. But the poor old hound dog is beyond dental cleanings. Too risky. So we dope her up twice a year on drugs and that seems to be good enough. If only that worked for humans.
Meanwhile, E-in was prescribed a diet of canned food in addition to his boring dry food. Tonight he got his first bowl ever. He lapped it up, hunched over his bowl like a lion king. Emma sat behind him like a sphinx, rock solid, but immobile. Emma doesn't eat canned food. Not because she's not special. But because she won't eat it. She only wants what she can't have.
E-in cleared his bowl and Emma stalked some more. Now E-in is sleepy happy calm while Emma is wondering where the party is.
This used to be the party, when it was not her bone.
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