The Discount Veterinarian

Last week, our cat got outside and ate something that gave her the runs.

If I had to bet, I'd put my money on the decapitated lizard that was left on our doorstep.

My neighbor gave me the phone number of her veterinarian. When I called the clinic, the receptionist asked if my cat would like an acupuncture treatment or a full body massage along with her antibiotic. I told the woman that I would need some time to wrap my mind around the concept of a pet spa and would have to call her back.

Veterinarian # 2 wasn't taking new patients.
"Really?" I asked the receptionist. "Really?"

I booked an appointment with Veterinarian # 3 but then canceled it after I learned that the office visit fee alone would set me back $90.

"I only paid $15 for the cat in the first place," I grumbled to the receptionist. "I could buy six new cats for that much."

I hung up the phone before the receptionist could trace my call.

"I think that Millie [our cat] might like a massage," said my husband when he got home from work. He told me to take the cat to the expensive vet.

Instead I took her to a low-cost pet clinic located next to a pawn shop and visible from the freeway off-ramp.

The first thing that the veterinarian wanted to do was to weigh our cat. This wasn't for health purposes, he told us, but for billing.

Like a produce vendor, the discount vet charged by the pound.

Before putting the cat on the scale, the man showed me his fee chart. He explained that the amount charged for the office visit isn't determined by the kind of animal on his examining table, but rather, how much that animal weighs.

I glared at my cat. She is the size of a small horse.

"I'm not sure that I'm comfortable with this," I told him.

He shrugged his shoulders and asked me how much I liked the smell of cat diarrhea.

Suddenly, I felt very comfortable.

In the end, the office visit cost me $55 (or 3 1/3 animal shelter cats) plus the cost of two medications.

Not bad, considering.

On our way out of the office, one of my sons snatched a paper pamphlet about heart worms from a display in the lobby. "I had no idea that worms could live inside you," he said admiringly.

The receptionist called after us. "Each pamphlet costs 5 cents!" she cried.

Evidently, everything in the discount vet's office is priced by the pound.