Right now, I'm sitting here waiting for the vet to call back with the results of my cat Zig's lab work. I had taken him in yesterday to have his mouth examined. He lost, or rather, I found, one of his front "fangs" in my couch cushions the other day. From the looks of it, it just fell out. I called the vet's office, and they suggested that I have him looked at just to be on the safe side.

So, yesterday, I brought him in to see the vet. It was a bit difficult, because that's where I brought Trouble when I had to have him put to sleep last month. She examined Zig, cleaned the wax out of his ears, and put him on antibiotics to prevent any infection in the spot where the tooth was. Overall, she said he looked good for a thirteen-year-old cat, but was concerned about the feel of his abdomen. So, she took blood and urine samples. Poor Zig! I had anticipated her poking around his mouth a bit, but hadn't thought that he'd be subjected to having fluids drawn out of his neck and bladder. He was very good about it, though, which surprised me. Of course, I made sure to give him some extra treats when we got home.

So here I sit, waiting for the call. Worrywart that I am, I'm imagining all sorts of dire results. It doesn't matter that he's running around like Tigger on crack, or that he's acting pretty much the same as he acted when he was two. His eating habits certainly haven't changed, and he still runs around chasing anything that isn't nailed down. Despite that, I'm worried, and fearing the worst. Damn, I wish she'd call already!