He’s Just Fine
Dental surgery, drugs, and stinky food
Sébastien had dental surgery on Tuesday. It was a tough day for him — and for Ben and me. Tango was slightly concerned when his brother disappeared for hours, while Syau didn’t give a hoot.
The reason for the dental surgery? Sébastien was experiencing resorption of two teeth:
From Cornell College of Veterinary Medicine:
In a condition known as a tooth resorption –formerly referred to as feline odontoclastic resorptive lesion (FORL) or cervical line lesion — the dentin in a single tooth (or several simultaneously) erodes and eventually becomes irreparably destroyed.
Tooth resorption is a common condition, affecting an estimated 20 percent to 60 percent of all cats and close to three-quarters of those five years of age and older. The cause, says Jennifer Rawlinson, DVM, chief of the dentistry and oral surgery section at Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine, is unknown.
I delivered him to the vet’s office at 6:45 am and returned to pick him up at 1:15 pm. After paying a whopping $635, I left with my sweet kitty, syringes of pain medication to last four days, and a list of post-surgery instructions.
Sébastien was surprisingly alert and showed no signs of post-anesthesia loopiness. When he was released from the carrier, he leaped on the bathroom counter where we keep the cat food dishes so Syau can’t eat their food. As the vet instructed, I put away his regular dry cat food and filled a bowl with wet food that smelled strongly of fish. Sébastien took a few tentative licks before crying loudly for his dry kibble. I tried encouraging him to eat the stinky, canned food, but he would have nothing to do with it. Accepting defeat, I filled a bowl with the normal dry food and sprinkled water over it to soften the crunchiness. He ate about 30 percent of it.
At 4 pm, as instructed, I attempted to give him the pain medication that was already loaded in a syringe. The directions said to slowly release it along the gum, allowing enough time for the medication to be absorbed into the skin.
Huh? Whoever wrote those instructions is not familiar with cats, particularly my cat.
I cornered Sébastien, picked him up, and took him to the bathroom counter where his food was, hoping he’d think I was only going to feed him. He didn’t fall for it and fought to get away. For a post-surgery cat, he was very strong!
I finally wrapped him with one arm and administered the medication with the other. He wiggled, squirmed, and jerked while saliva — and probably pain medication — dribbled down his chin. When he got a paw loose and drew an angry red welt across my arm, I let him go.
I’m sure his gum didn’t absorb any of the drug, but after his impressive display of strength and determination, I doubted that he needed to be doped up.
He sashayed out the patio door to the back porch, climbed up his ladder, and leaped to the bed on the kitty tree. An hour later, I took the lead photo of him half asleep.
I kept an eye on him until bedtime, and he showed no signs of being in pain or even bothered by the empty spaces that once held teeth. I tried again to feed him wet food and failed as miserably as I did the first time.
When I replaced the fishy food with softened, hard kibble, he pushed it around with his nose but didn’t eat. Instead, he sauntered down the counter to Tango’s dish of regular dry food and devoured every piece.
When Ben returned from taking Syau on her last walk of the day, we turned off the lights and went to the bedroom, where this scene greeted us:
Since Sébastien's arrival from the vet’s, Tango avoided him, and now here they were side-by-side.
Maybe Sébastien needed some comfort or reassurance. Or maybe he was apologizing to Tango for eating his food. Maybe Tango felt bad about ignoring his brother. I’m not sure of the feline dynamics, but I do know that
Sébastien was and is just fine — without pain medication and without fishy food.
© Dennett 2024