I hate the vet’s and make for the door as soon as I can, but yesterday it was beyond me. And before I knew it the vet had whisked me away for “treatment” (incarceration).
They put me on fluids and intravenous antibiotics, and yet my temperature remained low. I was damn cold, and could have done with my blanket from home.
‘He’s got a bad case of gastro, and his temperature’s still down,’ the vet said. ‘I want to keep him in overnight.’
No. I wanted my bed, my house, my pack, but I was trapped.
Morning, and another couple of nurses tried to put something where they shouldn’t. Well, I showed them, I can tell you. Bet they let me out after that, I thought.
‘His temperature’s back to normal,’ the vet was back on the phone. ‘In fact he tried to nip one of the nurses as they took his temperature. I’m happy for you to administer antibiotics at home.’
Bingo, Jaq’s on her way. I am officially on the mend.
I couldn’t leave that place fast enough, though Jaq held me back as she paid the bill, saying she could have a night at Claridge’s for that.
I’m back, though Jaq says I’m quiet and the washing machine is bugging me more than normal. I’m going to sunbathe, that’s the answer.