Spain the Cat went to the vet today, not out of any terror for her life or anything, but because she’d been acting very uncomfortable and scratchy ever since I got back from Kentucky. I caught her chewing at a couple of skin-tag-thingies (which we already knew about), and they seemed to have grown; so off to ye old doc’s office she went as a precautionary measure.
I tweeted about this, and people had questions, so here’s the rundown. For starters, she has fleas. And for finishers, her skin-tag-thingies have become a tiny bit suspicious, so we opted to get them aspirated for testing. They’re probably fine, but better safe than sorry — and better to find out in case of problems while those problems are still small, that’s what I say. (We’ll have Spainy’s skin test results either tonight or Wednesday.)
Three hundred bucks later (*ouch*) we’re home with some Frontline and some hardcore mega-killah flea spray. She was given a special flea-killin’ pill before we left the office, but it only works for about 24 hours so I have to log off and start washing every damn bit of fabric in the entire apartment. And then I’ll be spraying the ever-living hell out of everything that won’t fit in the washer/dryer. This place is going to smell like ass, but by sundown I fully expect it to be 100% flea-free. Goddammit.
Edit: The vet called with Spainy’s results — they were inconclusive, but mostly good. She’s about 95% sure that everything is normal, but a little blood contamination and a near-iffy set of cells keeps her from giving the total all-clear. The plan is to keep an eye on the suspicious nodule and address it again at the kitty’s annual checkup in a few months, perhaps for biopsy (though sooner of course if it starts to go weird on us). Anyway, there you go.