Cats aren't supposed to pant

And yet this afternoon, at almost exactly 1:45, Joey was panting. I kept careful track of the time because we had a vet appointment at 4:00 and I wanted to be able to report everything to him.

The vet thinks it may have been stress/exertion. Poor Joey's anal glands had become impacted, which made it painful and difficult to defecate. The vet took care of it and gave Joe a once over. Except for some gum trouble, he seems sound as a dollar.

But, like Charlotte, he's 17 or 18 years old. He enjoys sleeping and cuddling and napping and purring, but that's it. He doesn't run or play much anymore. If he was a person, he'd be between 85 and 90.

He hates going to the vet. It terrifies him (though it's the trip, not the vet visit itself that upsets him; for poor Charlotte, the whole episode was always terror). Getting a shot, having his glands expressed, riding to and from in a cab, it all exhausted my poor boy.

So I'm waiting until August to consider his dental work. If he's still feeling good, if he's still strong enough for anesthetic, we'll get those gums taken care of. But I don't want to turn around and drag him to the vet again next week. It doesn't feel fair.

Joey is a good boy. A dear, sweet old tub of guts. He's earned the right to be comfortable and happy. I'm trying to do right by him.