Sybil went in for her well-kitty check-up yesterday. Since she's sixteen, we have cat health insurance.  Yes, you may laugh, but yesterday's check-up would have cost us $350 if we did not have insurance. I paid $42.  Yea, thank you Banfield Pet Hospital for this miraculous invention for those of us specializing in geriatric pet ownership.

If you recall, Sybil developed a thyroid problem six months ago.  Since then, we have been giving her thyroid pills once a day.  They also told us that she had a heart murmur.  We were terrified, but she's been taking her pills like a good kitty, and we think she's doing fairly well.

When we went to pick her up last night,the Morose Veterinarian came out.  I think she was shocked Sybil had managed to drag herself through the past six months since she was last seen.

Morose Vet:  "Well, she seems to be doing okay.  The murmur is not as audible now."

Me:  "Oh, good. So she's in the clear."

MV:  "Well, she IS sixteen.  We gave her another thyroid test.  The results should be back in a few days."

Me:  "Is her weight up?"

MV:  (very seriously) "She's holding steady.  We had a thirteen-year-old cat in here today who was only five pounds. He was a boy." (looks solemnly at Sybil)  "He should've weighed more than her."

Me:  "She weighs eight pounds.  She's good."

MV:  "For now."

My beloved wandered over with the little angel from where they had been examining the fishies swimming in their technicolor tanks. 

Beloved:  "What are these?"

Me:  "Those are the cat chews they recommended for Sybil's tartar."  (Until this point, I had not questioned this purchase.)

Beloved:  "How much were these?"

Me:  (starting to feel stupid) "Thirteen dollars."

He holds up the bag in disbelief.  "There are only thirty chews in here."

We take Sybil in her carrier out to the car, where my beloved starts griping about the size of the parking spaces, which he insists on referring to as "parkin' spaces." His capricious Iowan dropping of the end "g" in words drives me insane for some reason.

Beloved:  "So, we're talking like forty-three cents a chew here. I bet they told you to give her like two chews a day.  (Imitating Morose Vet) 'Even though we sell the greenies, we really think that this more expensive product is much, much better. In fact, we think the greenies might actually be made of left-over nuclear waste.'"

Me:  "Why are you so hung up on this?"

Beloved:  "I think that vet is just like an insurance agent.  Every time we go in there she manages to tack on like five extra things."

Me:  (preoccupied with my firstborn's health) "Do you think Sybil's okay?"

Beloved:  "That vet is like Jiffy Lube.  Every time you go in there, they tell you a belt's about to snap or your oil filter looks like hell.  It's all about the add-ons with vets and oil-change places."

Me: "She needs the chews.  Gingivitis is very dangerous for the elderly."

Sybil:  "Meow.  MEOW!!!!"

The little angel tries to reach through the holes in the carrier.  They are sitting next to each other in the back seat.

Little Angel:  "Pretty Sybie."

Me:  "Honey, we have to be very nice to Sybie and give her her mousie toys and chews when we get home.  Sybil had a hard day.  She got shaved for her test."

LA:  "Sybie shaved?"

Me:  "Yes, sometimes for medical procedures you have to have your fur shaved." 

The little angel touches her hair thoughtfully.   "Sybie haircut?"

Me:  "Yes, precisely."

Beloved:  "I'm surprised they didn't charge us for a highlight to make her MORE tabby."

Me:  "We love Sybie."

Little Angel:  "Pretty Sybie."

Beloved:  "It's a good thing she's pretty.  Her food costs more than yours does."