Occasionally, one of you will ask me about my mice because I haven’t posted about them here lately. I’m protecting them from overexposure.
Anyway, the mice are good. For the most part.
[DUM DUM DUM!!!!!] <—That indicates ominous music
I mean, Whiskers is kind of a jerk and I’m slightly annoyed that Poseidon’s curly fur has straightened so that it is hard to tell her apart from Squeaky, but whatever.
Sadly, there is a new way to tell Squeaky from Poseidon: the distressing open wounds on her head. I’m not kidding.
I noticed that she had a little bald spot and that it was red, but then it seemed to get better so I’ve just kept an eye on her, but today I noticed that it was all red and inflamed again and she was scratching a lot.
Fortunately, she is still scrappy enough to defend herself from aggressors who try to steal the special treats I put in Mouse Town.
So here’s the thing. I wanted to take her to the vet when I first noticed her head problems, but Alex was all, “Fifty-nine dollars for a vet appointment? There will be no heroic measures for a three-dollar mouse!”
Because it looked like she was getting better, I agreed, but when it started looking bad again today, I marched up to Alex, who was taking the day off, and gave him a big speech about how if he can gallivant off to Phish shows all the time that I can take my mouse to the vet.
Because he’s smart, he agreed. Also because he’s not an asshole. He did roll his eyes dramatically, however.
I called up the vet and their not cat/dog guy was able to squeeze us in at 3:30. Unfortunately, I had a doctor appointment at 2:30, which meant it was extremely unlikely that I would be done in time to take Squeaky to the vet.
Which is how Alex was forced to take Squeaky and a couple of kids to the vet. Imagine eye rolling so severe that he almost fell down.
I ended up meeting him at the vet. He was easy to spot because he was the large, embarrassed looking man with a tiny mouse cage in his hand. I let him go home, although he tried to leave the kids with me. Nice try, Alex.
I was a little disturbed when I went into the exam room and saw what looked like a salad spinner on a scale. It had a lid too, which also made it look disturbingly like a pot.
They didn’t cook her, nor did they have to fly in special, tiny instruments from El Paso.* What the vet did do is give me two medications that I have to force her to take twice a day each. How the Christ do you medicate a mouse?
“She’s a nice mouse. You’re lucky she’s not a biter,” the vet told me.
Yeah. Not yet.
Also, Squeaky’s bill came to $150, for which I could have purchased 58 new mice.
Frankly I was relieved that Squeaky got medicine and not a death sentence. It is possible that there are other things at play that the medicine won’t help and that we will have a dramatic goodbye episode between Quinn and his mouse, but Jeebus willing, it won’t come to that.
‘Til then, I will continue to give Squeaky her morning and night medicine. I can do it right after I give my cat her morning and night medicine, but before I inject the cat with her subcutaneous fluids, right after I dose Quinn with Miralax, treat Sam’s psoriasis elbow and perform oral surgery with a toothbrush and dental floss on Jack’s soft little teeth.
How did I end up running a goddamn infirmary here? You’ll excuse me as I have to go make a meds timetable so I don’t forget anyone. Also, I have to pry open some mouse jaws and insert .02mL of medicine. Twice.
* Yet another Guess That Pop Culture Reference Contest! *no prizes will be awarded; void in 49 states.*