And now, after spending close to $500 at the vet yesterday, some breaking news:
My pets? THEY OLD.
Okay, I don't have the results of Max's bloodwork yet, so I don't yet know SPECIFICALLY what old-man-cat affliction he's suffering from, not that any of the choices are all that hot. Maybe thyroid, maybe kidneys, and maybe, as the vet seemed to be leaning towards after his exam: OLD CAT IS OLD. ALSO HELLA CONSTIPATED.
So, okay then. Once the results are in (tomorrow a.m.), we'll map out some kind of plan to make him as comfortable as possible. Hyperthroidism would be the most medically manageable (provided I can figure out a way to get him to swallow a pill without too much sturm und drang), kidney disease would be mostly palliative, and either way I'm hoping the vet has some better ideas to tackle the constipation because we have already tried ALL THE THINGS and this cat continues to shit out tiny little rocks all over the house, preferably on the dark brown carpet of the master bedroom, for maximum camouflage and Amy-stepping-on-poop occurrences.
(Hmm. I feel kind of bad writing about poor old Max's poop on the Internet. Despite spending quite a few years in the diaper trenches and feeling no shame or filter in discussing my human offspring's poop. This means I have either really grown as a person/blogger or there continues to be no end to my messed-up priorities.)
After Max, it was Ceiba's turn to give me a heart attack, because...
HOLY SHIT WTF HOW IS THAT A THING
Despite the absolutely horrifying-sounding name that conjures up images of my dog being slowly suffocated by her own throat, "collapsing tracheas" are another fairly common Old Dog problem (and especially Tiny Old Dogs). It means she's got a weird cough and is now on doggie Robitussin twice a day. We seem to have caught it early and it's still mild, so hopefully the cough suppressant will calm things down and she'll just need the medication on and off for future flare-ups.
(Which I suspect will/are triggered by allergies she's developed since our move. Oh, new neighborhood, you are killing us all, stop it.)
Before making that diagnosis official, the vet ordered a chest x-ray because she worried that Ceiba's breathing seemed labored and there might be something More Super Serious going on. The words, "Oh, okay" were all that came out of my mouth while inside my body, my brain was quietly having a heart attack and my heart was having a stroke.
Luckily the x-ray happened quickly and definitely ruled out anything terrible. Ceiba breathes weird because apparently her chest cavity is just too tiny for all the things that belong in her chest cavity. Also she could stand to lose a little weight. (The vet did not say this specifically but I don't care, I'll totally fat-shame my dog. Stop eating the damn cat food, dog. Maybe try some Zumba.)
Anyway, that's where we stand with the pets. Fingers crossed for Max's bloodwork results tomorrow. Which! Blog Service Announcement, will most likely be communicated via the social mediaz, the InstaFacebookTwittergramz and such. Due to my temporary blindness from Zombie Pinkeye last month, I had to delay a couple sponsored posts and now two of them are going to be jammed up back-to-back this week. I usually try very hard to keep that stuff spaced out but it was either get them out this week or say goodbye to money, and um, no. Vet bills and many other bills, folks. Don't read them for me, read them for the animals.
(Do you feel guilty yet? Shall I hum a few bars of Sarah McLachlan? In the armmmsss of the angel...oh crap now I'M crying.)