Whose idea was this anyhow?

B wanted a cat. "I really want a cat," he told me. "I really like cats." I wasn't impressed. We have two dogs and a fish. That seems like enough, non? Apparently not. The requests for a cat, sometimes even accompanied by the word "please", continued for well over a year. Finally, B's father caved. It became my job to get a cat. From the SPCA. If we had to get a cat, I wanted a female. Actually, I really didn't want a cat but... sigh... Anyhow, we ended up with an extremely well-tempered male that gets along with our dogs; is friendly and talkative; and generally well-mannered. The trouble is that the cat is a sensitive sort of fellow and he's had the runs for a week. And he vomits regularly. Oh. Yeah. And he's got an inflamed scrotum. Guess who gets to clean up the litter box? And the vomit? And administer the antibiotics. I think I need to change my job description...