My Cat’s Totally High (and not on catnip)

Mirror Douche Guy
Not only does this freak me out because it looks evil, but this guy kind of resembles yours truly.

I have promised never to mention cat pee problems again, but I just have to this once. It’s funny.

This post will not be about cat pee, by the way.

One of the challenges with  administering  Prozac to my cat is how to get it in her body. There’s really only a few options. The first is to shotgun it in her mouth with a plastic syringe. This is most effective, yet most dangerous. There are all sorts of videos on how to fire a pill down a cat’s throat, and it’s usually a two person job. You can do the liquid Prozac this way, too. What happened with my cat is that within a week she started hiding from me. The only other option is transdermal gel. You rub it into the inside of her ears. There’s a lot of debate about the efficacy of this technique since the drug molecules may or may not enter the cat’s membranes due to size.

But, here’s what I do know – her pupils get crazy big after about half an hour. That’s a stoned cat. It works.

I texted my  veterinarian  ex-wife about the big pupils and she said, “You’ve got a high kitty!”

And high kitty doesn’t pee outside her box. Huzzah for the good people at Eli Lilly.

Okay, moving on from that. Thanks for bearing witness to my indulgence.

Spending so much energy on my cat was important to me because she most likely has a stress that is causing her to pee. But, since I’m a human, I don’t know what it is. As her owner (yes, humans own animals – it’s okay) it’s my responsibility to do everything I can to help her. And, for now, this solution works. I’ve tried about a dozen other strategies.

I hope this means I’m going to be a good parent. I also think, however, that we all need someone who is looking out for us and will do things to make us feel good. I know that my biggest challenge in life is shame. That I’m never quite doing enough. Since I’m not yet totally self-sufficient to soothe and honor my accomplishments, I enlist surrogates. I have friends that call me up to tell me that I’m doing okay. I also use family, support groups, etc.

I’m embarrassed to say that when I metaphorically look in the mirror I see the fat – I suspect many of us do. But we need people that don’t even know to look at the fat in us. And we need to lean on those mofos when we can’t pull ourselves up. Most importantly, you must trust those people’s perceptions are actually more accurate than your own, even though your mind will tell you otherwise.

I think our job after that is to still look in the mirror, see the fat and go, “Well, that is fat there. But I don’t hate myself for having it. I’m fat – okay. And I’d like to shave off some pounds. But what if I learned to love myself along the way?”

My big fear is that would decrease my motivation to fixing things that need to be fixed. My experience has told me that shaming myself doesn’t change anything. This is the bane of the perfectionist.

So, for now I need my friends to champion me every so often. I also need to champion someone else, like my cat. Lastly I should spend some time in the mirror getting friendly with my fat.

Note – I’m actually pretty cool with myself in the mirror. But that’s because I’m vain. It’s everything else I have a hard time looking at.

Mirror Douche Guy
Not only does this freak me out because it looks evil, but this guy kind of resembles yours truly.

photo credit: andres.thor via photopin cc