Last night, while reclining on the couch with Gilligan on my chest, I noticed something odd; Gill’s face appeared to be swollen on the left side. So, after some sweet talk, Hugh managed to pry Gill’s mouth open, revealing a very swollen gum line and prompting a visit to the vet first thing this morning.
Now, Gilligan is neither a good traveler nor an ideal patient. For one thing, he is seventeen years old which, in cat years is closer to 84 and, while he’s still really spry for 84, he’s also rather um, cranky. Like, seriously cranky.
Luckily, the yowling stopped once we got to the clinic. Oh, it was quickly replaced by hissing but, if a strange woman shoved a thermometer up your ass, you’d hiss too (I hope. And, if not, I don’t want to know).
To make a long story short (too late!), Gill’s left canine tooth was infected and had to be removed, prompting a three-hour surgery and two-to-three weeks of follow-up antibiotics. Due to his age, there was some concern about complications like hemorrhaging but, other than Hugh’s wallet hemorrhaging money following the operation, all was well.