Look Who's OCD... and it's not me.

So I need to preface this blog with a disclaimer... if you are inclined to ever say, "type-casting" or "like mother like daughter" or "that's the pot calling the kettle black," then please don't read any further.

Cause Potter has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I kid you not.

It was his yearly checkup so we went to get his shots from our favorite vet, Dr. B. Just for safety's sake, I pointed out Potter's bald spot on his lower abdomen. I figured he'd gotten into some duct tape on one of his journeys into the great outdoors that is my neighbor's yard. But the doc said it's either mites or obsessive grooming (god knows he didn't get that from me). However, after a scraping of the belly, Dr. B ruled out mites and suggested he might suffer from OCD.

OMG.

And any other assortment of appropriate acronyms.

It's stress, Dr. B suggested and offered to prescribe my cat antidepressants. ANTIDEPRESSANTS. "Don't bother, I've got plenty in the cabinet," I wanted to say, but refrained. Instead, I argued: Potter's the happiest one in the house! How could he be stressed? So Dr. B offered to check out a fecal sample just in case it is mites (and not a mental disorder) and the mites are hiding.

Even worse. I should have kept my mouth shut.

"Can you get a fecal sample?"
"Have you ever followed an indoor/outdoor cat around all day? No. I cannot."
"Then shut him in a closed off room with a litter box."
Riiight. Cause that won't get my carpet ripped up and my shoes peed on.

Then I thought of another solution. I'd change the litter in the litter box. I rarely do that because they're indoor/outdoor cats and often take care of business where it recycles naturally. They only really "go" inside except when it's raining. And I'm convinced that changing the litter is for Potter like hearing stories of waterfalls and gushing rivers is to a child in a car. So, once home, I grabbed the scooper and began scooping. Then I waited. And before the dust from the litter even settled, Potter was in the litter box having a little moment. Unfortunately the moment only produced urine. But as he covered it up with his paws pushing the litter, he circled around once again and my hope was rekindled. Sure enough the squatted and hunched and a little squeek came out of his mouth.

I scooped the poop before he had a chance to cover it and closed in it the vet's container.

One cat down and one to go. My truly troubled cat is actually the opposite of Potter, he's essentially quit grooming himself. He has huge knots in his fur that he can't get out and I can't get out, and they keep growing and spreading, knotting his fur.

"Lion's Cut," Dr. B said. "Just do it."

And speaking of licking, or not licking as the case may be, I asked our favorite vet (i've practically put his kids through college, I'm sure), "Is it normal for dogs to lick things?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like... the bed. Or the couch. For long periods of time."
"The same spot or multiple spots?"
"Oh, different places."
"He licks the bed and the couch. He licks cloth, then."
"Uh huh."
"No, that's not normal."

Of course it isn't. But Dr. B assured me that neither does it mean she's ill. "Try telling her NO and then handing her a rawhide."

Yes, okay, I'll give it a shot. Let me know what you find out about my OCD cat's fecal sample and I'll bring Satan's Little Helper in for his Lion's Cut tomorrow.

Wait til my therapist hears about this...