Tomorrow, Tucker goes to the hospital for dental surgery. The operation itself is routine, so far as any cutting at a living body and the reparation thereof can be routine. But Tucker is diabetic, and recently recovered from a cold, so I am more worried about him than I was about Josie when my Chubs underwent the same procedure. The doctor performing the surgery is experienced, and knows about Tucker’s condition, so he will receive the best care in that regard. But I am anxious about the roly poly’s event even so.
I start to starve him tonight at ten o’clock, something he won’t understand; nor will the other cats not know why they can’t find the hard-food bowl available, as always. In fact, it won’t be placed for them to access for several days, as Tucker will not be permitted to eat hard-food for that amount of time after the surgery. I’m not sure who dislikes disruption in the norm more, the cats or I.
As for myself, tomorrow I go to the human’s physician. This is just to meet him: my previous doctor retired and, as it is difficult to find physicians accepting new patients in my town (in Canada in general, I think), I am taking time off from work to acquaint myself with this one. I found my past doctor more than satisfactory, so I am wary of this one, though he may prove perfectly adequate. The beasts’ veterinarian knows me better; perhaps she should be my doctor, as well.