I never dose her in the same place twice, at least not on the same day. If I shoot in her scruff in the morning, then I shoot in her flank or side shoulder in the evening.
And this abrupt change in her behavior unfortunately does correlate with trying to establish a routine of home BG testing. She flinched every time I poked her, though I wasn't jabbing indiscriminately and I gave her all the extra attention, treats, and affection as recommended. But, it's still a poke to draw blood, slight and quick as it may be. Before I started home testing - and I've only managed thus far to get in one day of two-daily BG tests to date, which led to the reduction in her insulin, as she was hitting low-to-mid 70s in the mornings before her shot - she was perfectly fine with the shot itself, she didn't even seem to feel it. She'd start eating, I'd shoot, kiss her, and she'd keep right on eating, then lick my face. She's a cat, so who knows, but she's an ex-feral cat with a highly-tuned survival instinct, despite having lived with us for 7 years, safe and sound. Poking her ear is probably not her idea of a good time. The other night, as we swiped the pillow under the bed to get her out, by the time I'd cornered her for her shot, she was hissing, her ears were flat, and she was clearly very stressed out. I held her in my arms, trying to soothe her, and her heart was pounding. She doesn't scratch or bite, thank god, but I was a mess, too. I can't do that every time I need to dose her; it's not fair to her. The more I push, the worse it will be. She needs a break and so do I. At this rate, she's reverting to the terrified cat she was when I first brought her home. I've not seen her like this since the first month of her arrival, when she camped out under the bed for three solid weeks, only venturing out for food and the litter box. She's very sweet and loving now, but she's always been more wary and fearful than Boy. She survived for years in a public park, chased by dogs and raccoons, living on her own under a bridge, with only me coming up to feed her twice a day and her son Boy as company. She's not fully domesticated, that's the reality of it. Hell, I've hired the same live-at-home cat sitter, a dear friend, every time we've gone on vacation and not once has my sitter managed to even get near one of my cats. They completely evade her. They eat and poop, but they're not interested in any contact with her - and they know who she is, they know her smell by now. I request proof of life while I'm away and my sitter sends me pics, of them huddled under the bed as if the sitter is a monster.
I'll get a fructosamine test done on the 23rd and see where Mommy's at. Believe me, I completely understand how vital home BG testing is. I saw her levels lower to a point that Dr Dick agreed to reduce her dose, so the proof is in the pudding, as they say. But not every cat cooperates. It takes time and patience - and I'm dealing with a cat who's not been home-raised. She loves us and clearly, we adore her, but I can't terrorize her into a corner every time. She's eating well, she's playing with Boy at night again, her pee output and volume have decreased noticeably, especially since we reduced her dose to 1u, and while I realize potential hypo remains a concern, for now I'll have to risk it and pray we're on the right course. Fructosamine tests aren't ideal to monitor her and, of course, are expensive and stressful, requiring the dreaded haul to the vet, but for now, at least we have that recourse. I've done everything possible to follow the guidelines, I've devoured every thread on this forum, but if she opposes me as she's currently doing, something has to give. She needs her insulin, she nearly died a month ago, her pancreas was failing, and she was probably an uncontrolled diabetic for at least 18 months before she ended up in crisis. I remember her gradual weight loss, increased pee and thirst; and I chalked it up to aging. It's my fault for not bringing her in sooner, as looking back now, I realize she had the symptoms, but getting her into a carrier was a hurdle and . . . well, there we have it. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. I can't beat myself up over it. I did the best I could with the knowledge, or lack thereof, that I had at the time.
I wish it were different, for both our sake. I wish I could explain to her that I'm doing all of this for her own good, that she's being an hysteric, but she doesn't understand words. She reacts to my deeds. I'm hoping that if I back off from the ear pokes until the vet visit, she'll settle down and return to the previous comfort zone we had with her shots.