Molly has always been my special cat. When I was 20, I dated a guy that she was scared of. So scared she pooped anytime he walked in the room. Didn't matter which room she was in or if she was anywhere near a litter box, she still pooped. He swears he never did anything to her that would warrant such random poopage, and I believed him because Molly is just weird like that.
Not long after that she started pulling her fur out. And not long after that she decided she didn't like anyone but me. Ah, Molly and her many quirks. She was my first cat on my own, so I just accepted all of this and moved on.
And Molly was quite happy being the weird cat out of the bunch until recently when she decided to push her weird quirks to the limits of what I can handle. Not knowing what else to do, I dragged her to the vet. After running some tests to see if anything was physically wrong with her the vet decided that, surprise, Molly's problems are all mental. And Prozac was prescribed.
Yes folks, my cat is on Prozac. The best part about this is that the vet does not give you the Prozac, they have to call it in to a real pharmacy. Like one for humans, not cats. The day the vet called in the prescription I got my most favorite phone call of all time:
"Hi, um this is going to sound weird but I'm the pharmacist at Long's Drugs. Do you have a prescription for cat Prozac?"
"giggle giggle giggle Yes, I do."
"Okay, that's not something we keep in stock, I'm going to have to order it."
"Gee, I can't imagine why you don't keep cat Prozac in stock. Thanks!"
Awesome. Nothing is as much fun as sounding like a nut job that gives their animals Prozac. Well, except maybe being a nut job that gives their animals Prozac.