So yesterday, we took Oreo (the cat) to the vet. Her eye looked infected. In fact, Andrew woke me from a sound sleep the other night by yelling:
There’s something wrong with Oreo’s eye!
Except, what I heard was:
Somehow Oreo died!
I charged down the hall, wide awake, heart pounding, only to find the cat, just fine, on his bed.
Miss B wanted to come along to the vet since she’s thinking about being a animal doctor. Actually, she has a very detailed career plan. It goes something like this:
- For two years, rescue injured seals, nurse them back to health, and release them back into the ocean. (She must have seen something on the Discovery channel about this, it’s so precise.)
- For two years, work at the Animal Humane Society. (Why two years for both? I don’t know.)
- Then, she’ll work as a veterinarian, taking care of all kinds of animals.
So, I was pleased that the vet tech and the vet herself were women. Plus, a high school girl was there doing job shadowing for a school project.
The vet put stain in kitty’s eye then viewed it with a black light to check for torn cornea. Actually, we all got to view kitty’s freaky glowing eye. A good time was had by all except kitty. Turns out it’s just an infection that we can treat with ointment.
Which, in theory, sounds simple. Have you ever put ointment in a cat’s eye? Sure, they make it look easy at the vet. This morning, it took me and Andrew to do it. And of course, kitty immediately proceeded to wipe it out of her eye.
Tonight, I’m getting the aspiring vet to help me.
Writing Wrongs 