This week, he became noticeably lethargic. He wouldn't run to the kitchen when he heard one of us in there. He wouldn't eat his Pounce treats. When Rascal would rather sleep than eat a Pounce treat, it's time to bite the bullet and phone the vet. We were lucky enough to find a vet who makes house calls, which I think must be the single most wonderful discovery since the Internet grocery delivery service we started using a couple of months ago.
Rascal hates riding in the car.
Even at his healthiest, he'll last perhaps five miles at most before he starts expressing his displeasure by pooping all over himself and the carrier, making the rest of the trip hell for himself and everyone else in the car. I was amazed by how quickly both Rascal and Mindy took to the vet, a warm and kindly woman who looks to be in her late 30s. Rascal didn't really have the strength to struggle much when she took him from me, but Mindy was a surprise. He doesn't generally warm up to strangers, and sometimes I think he still hasn't completely accepted my presence in his home. But he sauntered right up to the vet for a rub on the head.