Friday, September 13, 2013
The cat was a little surprised to find a small boat in his water bowl, recently. He has water sources scattered all around his roaming grounds. This one is in the little patch of violets under one of the antique wrought iron chairs that a long-ago garden design client and antique dealer gave me.
His thirst is best satisfied by outdoor or running water. Then there's the bath. He never used to drink enough and would get into regular urinary tract trouble, long, long before his hyperthyroidism was an issue - the only cure for it was water. We float his pellets in it (wet food does not fix the problem), and we give him all these water bowls, now. Twice-annual trips to the vet to be "unblocked" (horrible euphemism) ceased, years ago, once I figured the water thing out. He has known many vets: the Park Slope Sadist ("the cat resisted me!" - after she inserted a catheter into his er,...cat penis. I mean, who would not resist that?), the Chopped Hog Vet (rode a Harley and was a Vietnam veteran - Estorbo never hissed or growled in his presence), the Traumatized Argentinian ("Estorbo ees a terrible name for a cat!" Three hours later: "...now I understand why you call heem Estorbo!").
The boat was French, apparently.