Opiates make the retarded, gay showcat AFFECTIONATE. Maybe I should start at the beginning, lest you think I drug my cat for fun. Which, turns out, is fun and something to consider for the future.
Last night here at headquarters, I noticed Bartleby's lower canine heretofore to be referred to as the "fang" or "snaggletooth" was not in its normal position. It was sticking out of his mouth and curling over his lip. This was disconcerting, though admittedly, kind of bad ass looking. Upon closer inspection, it was falling out. I had a minor freak out. Picture rocking, petting and lamenting mortality.
We went to the vet today, where Bartleby bounced about the exam room like a cracked out rubber ball, knocked my purse to the floor, tried to stick his head in the sharps container and in this process, utterly endeared himself to my new vet. My new vet is awesome. I hugged her. It was an emotional day.
So the verdict was an abscessed tooth, more likely than not. She offered to extract the snaggletooth for $850 or I could opt to take him home, pump him full of opiates and antibiotics and wait for it to fall out on its own. I chose the latter. The major lesson today? Two words: pet insurance.
Sadly, there was nothing that could be done to fix the falling out fang, though she assured me that his other teeth are in great shape and the loss of said fang should not impact his quality of life or longevity. By way of explanation, she pointed out the fact that Cornish Rex are a British breed. (NOT my joke, hers.) Of course, other cats will mock him. Though I think it lends him some street cred.
If you'd like a preview of my weekend, it's looking like I'll be sitting home drugging my cat every 6 hours and waiting for his tooth to fall out. Glamour people, pure glamour.