It doesn't help that the elder cats are on to me. They tense up the moment I approach. They don't actually run away, because that would take energy and they are pillowish, both in shape and general physical activity. Jilly's proved to be fairly easy; she'll take the pill well enough, even though she makes me pay for hours after. Case in point: I gave her this morning's dose around half past five. When I got home at four this afternoon, she was still dodging me. Isabeau is another story entirely. She doesn't dodge, but she's learned how to tilt her head just so at just the right moment so that the pill shooter joinks the pill to the side of her mouth. Last night, it fell from her mouth As I caught it it brushed against her lovely white fur. Even now, she has a brilliant blue splotch on her breast. This evening, after her subtle head twisting, I recovered the pill and thought, "Hell with this!" I've given cats pills for years. No big, surely, to pop it to the back of her mouth, hold her jaws shut and stroke her throat. And when I say 'no big' apparently I mean 'huge - nay! ENORMOUS - big. In a nutshell: slimy, saliva covered pill oozing its blue coating, grumbling and sneezing and unhappiness from kitty and myself, gnashing teeth, puncture wound, fountain o' blood.
The cats are dosed. My finger hurts. A lot. It's throbbing. *sigh* Only six more days of this. Six more days, two cats, two pills per day. I can do this. I can.
None of my kitties are allowed to get sick for... oh, ever.