The only thing that stops Molly crying when she’s in the cat box is the sound of my voice. Which is sweet and flattering, but likely to make people think I’m a crazy lady. This evening I walked through our neighbourhood, the cat box under my arm, muttering multiplication tables through the grille to a panicking cat. It was all I could think of! I was actually quite proud of myself though. I got as far as seven sevens before I had to pause and count in my head. And Molly was (relatively) placated.

So, the vet thinks that feline hyperthyroidism is at the root of all Molly’s troubles. But, before a firm diagnosis can be made we have to get a urine sample and some blood tests.

Hahahahahaha. I know, right? A urine sample from a cat? From a cat who pees exclusively outdoors and in areas of the garden unknown to me? SIMPLE! I had visions of having to follow Molly around for a day with a plastic cup on a stick, so that I could stick it under her any time she looked kind of pee-y.

But the pee issue pales in comparison to the blood test issue. Because Molly can’t eat anything for eight hours before the sample is taken. This is the cat who wakes me up by scratching my closed eyelids when she wants her breakfast. AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. Saying that Molly will not take kindly to no breakfast is to flirt with the very extremes of understatement. SHE MIGHT ACTUALLY LITERALLY SCRATCH MY EYES OUT.

So, the bad news is: No breakfast for Molly tomorrow. We’re taking her to the vet at 8.30am, leaving her there all day for tests, and picking her up in the evening. The good news is, the vet said she’d take care of gathering the urine sample while Molly was with her. So, well, that’s one less thing. BUT OH HOLY CRAP there is not going to be any sleeping going on in this flat after 5am tomorrow. And I can only imagine the wailing that will be unleashed when we have the temerity to feed Milly, while starving Molly. STARVING HER! OH THE HUMANITY FELINITY! It will not be pretty.

But she is going to be OK. This condition is eminently treatable. Expensive (but of course) and a pain in the arse (pills, oh my God we have to give her pills – even the VET can’t get Molly to take pills), but ultimately treatable. So thank goodness for that.