Jeremy Girard a.k.a. Jay ...A Sickly Kitty Walks It Off...

Poor Jay...

Poor, poor Jeremy Girard...

Approximately one month ago, my nine-year-old, 21 pound orange tabby Jeremy Girard ("Jay" or "Lil' Head") became pretty ill.

First of all, I noticed that his hair was getting all matted and he wasn't grooming himself like he usually did.

Hmm... I thought quietly to myself. I wonder what his problem is... I hope he'll be okay...

He better walk it off...

Then he started making an awful noise. Not quite a cute kitty's meow, but a kitty in distress wail...

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOAAA!....

Hmm... I thought quietly to myself again... What's his damn problem? I hope he'll be okay...

Jay, you betta walk it off, boy...

But that's not the worst of it... After he'd wail like that, he'd vomit up some type of phlegmy green mucousy liquid...




Was this the pet version of The Exoricist?? Disgusting. Especially after having to follow his big butt around with a spray bottle of Resolve pet carpet cleaner....

Walk it off, Jay...

After about two days of this nastiness, I decided to take Jay to the veternarian hospital...

But the problem is, I HATE vetenarians. Back in the early 90's I had a dog name Keesie Anne. She was half chihuahua and half poodle (looked like a cross between a rat and a racoon). We took her to the vetenarian because she was sickly and appeared to have allergies. They repeatedly said she was allergic to fleas.

We took her to another veternarian, my Auntie's favorite vetenarian. Turned out that Keesie Anne had advanced cancer.

I have looked at vetenarians sideways every since...

I started taking Jay to my Auntie's vet regularly, but that vetenarian retired...Jay (and my other cat Oscar Tyrone) had not been to the vetenarian since 1999. That was when I was living in New Orleans. They both had white worms oozing out of their butts (Disgusting!) and it cost me approximately $300.00 dollars to get them dewormed. I told that vetenarian that Jay had a regurgitation problem. If he ate too fast, he would hack all of his food right back up. (Disgusting! Have you ever seen a cat throw up??) The vetenarian said "Gee, it's gonna cost a lot of money to figure out why he does that."

No it's not, buddy, I thought quietly to myself... You're not ganking me for my bread!

So, it's been six years since my cats have been to the veternarian. Jay would throw up if he ate too fast on an irregular basis, but it was not enough to concern me, or him for that matter. They are inside cats, and besides... they are not employed...

Well, Jay was sitting around looking real "tow-up", and early that Saturday morning I decided to take the poor cat to the local 24 hour Veternarian hospital. I was happy to see that the vetenarian in charge was a Sister. Maybe she wouldn't try to stick me up for my cash.



She removed a growling Jay from his kennel and pressed him all over his huge body. Jay must have been really sick, because it usually takes about 3 folks, a good muzzle, and strong leather gloves to get him out of his kennel. I described his symptoms to her. She continued to feel his body. He continued to growl like a dog...

Then she said "This cat is overweight. I want to put him on a diet."

"What?!" I screamed to myself.

I remained professional. "Jay doesn't really eat," I said calmly.

She looked at me like I'd been smoking or something...

"Jay doesn't really eat," I repeated. "Maybe 1/4th to 1/2 cup of dry food per day. My other cat, who's real skinny, eats like a horse. But Jay doesn't eat much."

"I still want to put him on a diet," she repeated.

Whatever. You're talking about diets. My cat is hacking up green goo and looking real jacked up. Bump your diet, Sister. Get my cat better! We'll figure out a diet plan later...

She worked up an estimate for me.

$623.00. Yep, I was being financially raped by a vetenarian... My dislike of vetenarians was growing by the minute...

Jay stayed in the vetenarian hospital for 4 days, with an IV line in his leg.

But of course, they didn't know what was wrong with him. All blood and urine tests showed that he was healthy as a horse. I would go and sit and visit with him in the hospital and brush his hair. But he didn't seem too happy with me. He would turn away form me and face the back of the cage. Or, when he did look at me, he had the look of the Grinch on his face. He had that look that said...

"If I could talk, I would cuss you out, LadyLee... and if I had fists, I'd beat your ass!"

Let's just say, Jay was not a happy camper.

Well, of course, they couldn't tell me what was wrong with him. On that 4th day, I basically told them that I was picking up my cat in the morning.

I was prepared to run up in the place like Rambo. But instead of a gun in my hand, I would have Jeremy's kennel. I was prepared to go up in there and throw my "Dr." title around, the way I throw it around when I am in a store and being followed by security. But that wasn't necessary.

They released Jay to me. He was quite lethargic, but alive. I figured that I would take him home to die in peace. I didn't want him to die at the vet's office. I wanted him to die at home.



I paid the $691.00 and left with Jay. I bought him a huge cage, his own set of white towels and wash clothes, and some soft expensive cat food, and took him home. I took the following day off to watch him...

He slept quietly for several days. It kind of freaked my sister Kay out to come home from work and find him stretched out on his back asleep. (This was his usual sleep position... I don't know why she was so creeped out).

Of course, my best friend Lady Tee would call daily to check on Jay... "You better pray over my nephew. You better lay hands on my nephew..."

My usual response to her was...

"Jay betta walk it off..."

Jay would lie in his cage and sleep all day. He would not eat or drink at all...When he was awake, he became intensely interested in whatever happened to be on TV. The vetenarian prescribed a steroid and antibiotic for him, and it was a chore of placing a syringe in his mouth and quickly give him his medicine. But I tried to be the good pet owner and help the poor cat off.

I called my Auntie, who is a cat aficiado, and asked for her advice....

She said "Maybe he needs an enema."

This comment caused me to sit straight up on the couch. I looked over at Jay, who was laying in his cage watching television... '

I could not imagine lifting Jay's tail and taking a fleet enema and sticking it where the sun don't shine. That cat would do his best to kill me...

"Jay, you betta walk it off, boy."

"Maybe you can mash his food up and feed him by the spoonful," my Auntie continued.

I'm sure she was trying to be helpful. But, sorry, it wasn't going down. Nope. Jay would have to figure it out if he wanted to live. I spent 700 bucks of my house money on him. He'd better figure it out real quick. Lady Tee and I had already figured out where to bury him if he was to die, and I already had a box ready for his body.



Well, to make a long story short... Jay is doing okay now. He's back to eating his usual handful of food. I knew he was getting better when I would hear him shake his cage in the middle of night. He would also tare up all the newspaper lining his cage, turn over his water and food, and flip his litter box completely over. (Jay is kind of wild, and this is his usual normal behavior...) Yeah, he is still hacking, but it is more of a dry heave than anything, and it seems to be every couple of days or so. Oscar Tyrone wouldn't go near him when he was sick ("That's not good," my Auntie said. "Cats can smell death.") But Oscar and Jay are very playful right now, and seem to be getting accustomed to the new house.


I found a good cat clinic for my cats 4 months ago. But it is located out on the northside of Atlanta in Alpharetta, which is approximately 40 miles from my home. I promised myself that I would take them there for their yearly shots, etc. This is the least I can do...

So here's to you, Jeremy Girard. I thought this would be an obituary, but thank goodness it's not...


So glad you were able to walk it off, "Lil Head"!!