I grew up with a firm belief instilled in me on the importance of a good bowel movement. Since Floyd came home last week, he hadn't produced a poo for several days which had me concerned. He was also starting to get a little belligerent about the whole pee extraction thing, so we took him into the vet last Sunday to get another lesson on how to pee him, to pick up some more pain meds and to ask the vet about bowel movements. Floyd ended up getting an enema. Roland and I also got a lesson on how to give Floyd an enema and were plied with a bunch of rubber gloves, syringes and a long tube to take home. After Feline Enema 101, we took our care package and Floyd up to the front reception desk for another financial enema. I told Roland that we should have that poop bronzed.
During the visit, the vet assistant asked us if we'd be interested in having our cats come in and donate to the blood bank in exchange for certain veterinary care. I asked her that since we had 9 cats, did she think we could get $3200 worth of credit for Floyd. I think vets should offer punch cards for certain cats, sort of like espresso stands - 10 visits and the 11th is free. Floyd would certainly qualify for that program. We were debating on whether to change his name to Crystal Cruise.
Upon the prospect of shoving a tub of goo up Floyd's back side, and the fact that the vet told us that increasing the amount of laxative wouldn't hurt him, we proceeded to add larger amounts into his wet food. He is also eating more now, so his laxative amount has increased with that development.
Floyd went in this morning for an official follow-up visit with the surgeon, who managed to remove several hard poops out of him. Well, that must have popped the cork because when I came home and checked on him this afternoon, he was covered from head to toe. The only thing he didn't do was paint with it on the wall. (He could then get published in Why Cats Paint II.) Thank got for the lid on the crate! He had that pathetic look cats get on their faces after they've been humiliated and it's your fault. After putting the rubber gloves to good use and using up around 20 moist towelettes, I gave up and carried him into the bathtub for a hose down. He wasn't too happy about that and I could tell he was getting stronger as he tried to launch himself from my grasp several times. A careful good suds and rinse did the job. Now, at least he has something to do in his crate (no, not poop endlessly) as he is diligently cleaning his wet fur. However, if this is a sign of things to come (out), he may end up being the cleanest cat in the neighborhood before too long.
I think we can back off on the Metamucil now.