The Cost of Living

Although I am deeply saddened by the passing of Butch the cat, the situation was almost so much worse. We almost had two of our four cats die this week. Sorry for writing two cat posts in one day, I guess I am a crazy cat lady at heart.

We returned home form a weekend away to find that Squeaker the cat had developed a golf-ball sized lump on her rump. Various theories were raised as to how this had happened, the most popular being a stealth attack by mean-cat Loki that had gotten infected. This theory was vehemently denied by Elizabeth, owner of Loki, who, sweet as she is, seems incapable of realizing what a bastard her cat is.

Squeaker is clearly in a bad way. She’s hot to touch, lethargic, unhappy. So, we do what has to be done; Jessie and I trek over to Burbank to take her to the cat hospital.

They are very nice folks in Bastet cat hospital. They stroke Squeaks gently and shave the affected area. After a brief examination they pronounce that it is indeed an abscess caused by a fight. They leave Jess and I to fill in forms while they calculate how much the treatment will cost. Due to my not having a driving license to transcribe some number from, Jess fills her details in on one half of the form. We are now, officially, life-partners (and have since received welcome cards through the post from Bastet cat hospital addressing us as such).

The vet returns, and tells us that the required surgery will cost $800, and that there’s a large chance that Squeaker will die of the infection if we leave her untreated. After a brief discussion, Jess and I realize we have no choice but to refuse the surgery, and instead spend $50 on some antibiotics.

We sound callous, I know, but we literally do not have $800 to spare. I know this makes us irresponsible cat-owners but bear in mind these are cats we took in when their old owner died and his ‘friends’, after promising to look after them, abandoned them in our garden. And, yes, we should probably get pet-insurance to cover these eventualities, and one day if I actually earn some money, I will do just that. Bear in mind I only managed to finally afford health insurance for me a month ago.

So, Jess and I decide to take the DIY life in the ghetto option. We roll up the rug in my living room, pull out some clean towels and sterilize a scalpel with hydrogen peroxide. We attach a desk lamp to the table and point in down. Our operating room is ready.

We realize we could do with some more help with holding the patient, seeing as how we have no anesthetic at our disposal. A quick scout around the compound make it clear that, while sympathetic, everyone else is too grossed out to be any use to us (this includes Scott).


We wrap Squeaks up tightly in towels to constrict her movement. Her wailing is upsetting, but we have no choice. Jess makes the incision, and we begin to squeeze the puss out.

It is a stinky job, it has to be said, yellow pus with green and black touches. It’s pretty hard to make sure it’s all out whilst trying to also hold down a cat and keep everything sterile.

10 minutes and we’re done. Squeaker rushes away and we wash our hands more thoroughly than ever in our lives. 5 minutes later Squeaker returns and rubs up against me purring. She seems like herself again.

A month on and she’s fine. I maintain that our 10 minute surgery was actually a lot less invasive and distressing for her than being knocked out for hours and staying overnight in a strange vet’s would’ve been. Jess and I are quite annoyingly proud of our achievement, and get rather annoyed when we tell people about the death of Butch, and they presume that it must’ve been the cat we operated on that died. It’s nice that people have so much faith in us.

There are two things that I think are very LA about this story. Firstly, the fact that someone was going to charge us $800 for something we could do ourselves, with absolutely no training, within ten minutes. Secondly, that once we’d finished the surgery and sat back for a celebratory drink, Jess and I turned to each other to share identical thoughts – why on earth didn’t we film that?