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Part 2
You may have read in "The Juciest Mice In Town" about "The
Avoiding of the Taking of Medication." That was me. Now a year
later, humiliation has visited me again.
It began with my breath.
 I
enjoy an occasional full mouth rub on my lady's finger. You understand,
as you're getting a head rub, you "mark" your person with your
saliva with a little push and chew.
Well, being one of those humans continually on the lookout for dysfunctions
of aging in and about my person, she noticed that I didn't have
the sweetest of breath, lately. This prompted her to rudely lift
my lips for a full mouth inspection. Upon seeing reddened gums,
it was time for another visit to that place all animals fear, the
veterinarian.
I pleaded with my eyes, walking to my food dish trying to convince
my lady to follow and hence deduce that my foul breath was due to
years of Ocean Whitefish, Catfish Puree, and endless fishy feedings.
Obviously, this had to be the cause, and if not then exactly who
was to blame, and why must I again suffer for the mistakes of the
homo sapien?!
Oh the indignity of it all.
She would have none of it, though, and so I retreated to comfort
myself in my basket.
As the holed box that carries me to only one place was brought out,
I disappeared. I have a deep closet with plenty of hiding places.
Unfortunately, she knows them all. Using a flashlight to guide her
way, I was extradited to yet another veterinarian trial.
After being weighed and violated with a thermometer, my mouth was
pried open and examined. Some "mmmmms" and "ahhhs" later an appointment
was made for a dental cleansing. Cleansing?! I am the only cleanser
of this body. Would this mean water and soap?
I could only imagine the horrors to come.
The day was one of those where the lady leaves early and returns
late. I knew when I was dropped off and left that this was a
very big deal. The only other time I was dropped off and
left was a hazy memory. All I remember was that I was six months
old and quite sore afterward. But more recently, my mother, God
rest her soul, was dropped off and left. She came back with string
all across her stomach and half her breasts gone! Drop off and leavings
were of the utmost seriousness as far as I was concerned.
There I was, caged alongside other frightened felines, too scared
to hiss or spit. I must admit I felt no empathy for the canines
cowering in their cages. I was actually insulted that we all shared
a room.
Sometime later I was pulled from my cage, feebly clinging to a towel
I knew couldn't anchor me. I was brought to a room and put on a
cold metal table. I was pierced and then . . . nothing.
I awoke with a mighty ache in my mouth. What could have been done
to me? Certainly the tartar was gone as I tentatively felt about
with my tongue. "Oh my Lord!" My two top incisors! My fangs!
My predator hunting and defense mechanisms - gone! How could this
be? I was in for a cleansing. No one said anything about a removal.
The bottom incisors were still there, but of what good could only
half a set of fangs be?
Upon further examination I found another hole where a molar used
to be. Oh woe was me. How much further could I degenerate? What
would the future hold for a toothless cat? Would I be able to attack
my toys with the same fervor? What about intimidating the occasional
dog with my "I dare you to get near me" face?! I could only imagine
the embarrassing scene that would follow. Deceived again. The life
of a cat.
Well, she picked me up acting all concerned. She slept next to my
basket as I came out of my groggy post pulling phase. I was orally
injected with pink medication for a week. I defiantly dribbled pink
everywhere I could, especially on light colored fabrics. I stayed
angry and hidden for as long as I could.
It was a good long time, too.
I'm pretty sure I taught her a lesson with my behavior. I'm almost
sure she won't do anything this outrageous again. But I'll tell
you what, friends, I keep a close eye on that holed box and a sharp
ear on phone calls. And I hardly ever rub my mouth on her finger
anymore.
There are other ways to "mark" what is mine.
Your friend,
Tigger Alice Tooncis
Ohhhh!!!!
You poor thing! What indignities they inflict upon you! You can
never be to careful with humans can you?
How are you adapting to the toothless lifestyle? Can you attack
your toys with the same ferocity? Can you hunt and kill? And how
can you eat?
We must know the answer to these questions or we'll never, never
sleep!
Sass, Jake, Solly, Leila and Chi
Dear Sass & Gang,
I thank you so much for your concern with my "health problems."
My lady bought me a new toy, an odd batch of rolled up cardboard
on a long wire, in an attempt to help me regain my self esteem which
I lost when my "fangs" were pulled from the top of my mouth. I do
actually enjoy this toy. When in motion it reminds me of chasing
a fly about the room. I am happy to share that I am able to attack
even without some teeth. Grasping and hanging on to it is a little
more difficult.
I am continually licking my top gums in disbelief that the teeth
are really gone. Perhaps I'll forget after a time. I do look quite
silly, though, and would be embarrassed to interact with other kitties.
Has anyone else out there had teeth removed? What is it like for
you?
Tigger Alice Tooncis
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