I am not a vet, but I play one on TV

At about 9:30 last night we discovered Malcolm, Liam’s cat, had a sore leg. Liam came downstairs and said, “Mom, Malcolm is hopping on three legs.” I went up to check and sure enough, his left front leg was all swollen and so tender he ‘bout ripped my head off when I probed it a little.

So off to the vet clinic this morning we went. The veterinarian diagnosed him with cellulitis. This is just a sort of non-specific inflammation. At this point there is no clear abscess, so nothing to lance. He sent us home with a bottle of antibiotic.

So I’m preparing to give this amazingly strong 11 pound cat this medicine. I’m supposed to give him 3 ml a day until the bottle is empty.

OK.

I pull the dropper from the bottle and discover it is marked with 12.5 and 25 mg. I have no idea how this translates to ml. As I am pondering this, with the damn cat tucked under my arm. He wildly swings a paw and sends the little bottle of medicine flying. Now the carpet and toy box in Liam’s room are covered with icky sticky medicine. There is none in the cat and none in the bottle.

My work here is done. Goal accomplished. The bottle is empty.

Crap.