After dinner, I was panting really hard. It wasn't THAT hot in the den. The human became concerned, came over to me, and told me to roll over. She started rubbing my belly (ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh) and I felt her energy change. She was worried. My belly was puffy and bloated. She kept feeling it, then poking it to see if it hurt (it didn't), made a phone call and next thing I know I'm being stuffed into the car and hauled off to the emergency vet.
As soon as we got there, they rushed me into the back room and started poking around in my tummy. Then they slapped me onto my side onto some machine and took pictures.
It all seemed pretty 'urgent'.
But I was ok. It was just gas. Not bloat - which the human explained could have killed me in less than an hour (after I shot her a withering look for putting me through all that bs over some gas).
Better safe than sorry, right?
The good thing about this vet?
They have office cats. Two of them!
Very fun to stalk, bark at and imagine eating.
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