Almost exactly one year ago, I brought my sweet baby Jack to you. I was terrified. He was my first cat. He was so very special to me. I was more frightened than I had ever been. Ever. I trusted you. I read reviews online. I trusted you.
When I finally got in, you took your sweet time coming to see us. You sent your nurse in first. I was already in tears and incredibly frightened. She was rude. BEYOND rude. She took my cat and tossed him on the table. She wasn't kind, she wasn't gentle.
When you finally got there, you asked me all the questions that she'd already asked. You told me to stop crying. You poked him. You flipped him back and forth. You hurt him...you told me you weren't...but you did.
And then, you uttered the phrase that has controlled my life.
"You should have brought him in sooner. We maybe could have fixed this."
Then, you told me that I'd have to leave him for tests. Overnight. I didn't like that. You told me I didn't have a choice. I agreed. You grabbed him and started walking away. I begged you to let him keep his blankie so he wasn't scared. You rolled your eyes at me and took it and told me you'd call the next day.
But you didn't. I called. Your receptionist told me to wait, that you'd call me. And you...didn't. So, I called again. And again. AND AGAIN.
And finally...I sent my husband in to bring my baby home. And he did. You left the port in his paw and told my husband you wouldn't take it out, because we were going to have to bring him back anyways. You also sent my sweet cat home covered in his own poo, with a dirty blankie. How dare you? He was important to me. How dare you?
I made Tim go back and tell you to take the port out. Right now.
I gave him the stupid prescriptions you told me he had to take...even though it wouldn't work. You made me brush the ick out of his fur because you didn't bother to take care of him. Every time I had to brush dried on poo out of his fur, he cringed. That's on you. Not me.
Eventually, we had him put to sleep. It was the hardest thing I have EVER done. Not because I didn't do what was best for him. Not because it helped him. Not because it hurt me, but because YOU, sir, blamed me. You told me it was MY FAULT. You told me that I could have prevented it. YOU did that. The new vet told met there was nothing we could have done. That cancer in cats is aggressive. That there was no way I could have known and yet the only voice I hear is yours telling me it was my fault.
And now, we have two cats again and every time they sleep too much or don't eat enough or don't meow the right way, I want to take them to the vet so that they don't die and it's not my fault. I live in constant fear that I am slowly murdering my pets. I am completely paranoid. I cry all the time because Jack is gone and even though I know it's untrue, you've made me feel like I killed him.
You did that.
You.
I will continue to make sure that no one takes their pet to you. That you don't get to do that to some other unsuspecting pet owner. I am going to trust my gut and stop listening to your weasley little voice in my head. You are not a nice man. You are not a good vet and you do not get to win.
I did the best I knew how to care for my sweet pet. I tried to remember the good things. And you tried to ruin that. That's not okay.
I'm going to let my pets live. I'm going to stop being so crazy overprotective. I want them to enjoy their lives. And I want to enjoy them with them.
You lose.
