24 July 2012

Petulance


For my sins, primarily that of going away periodically for work or leisure, especially leisure, and having some stranger come in to take care of the cats, I seem to be called to atonement by having to take one to the vet. This time, after waiting hours for Felix to return, he finally appeared at the front door, plucking feebly at the cat flap, as if he didn’t know how to operate it normally, which, for him, is to dive through head-first. Upon opening the door, remonstrating with him, we saw that he had a pronounced limp.

Nothing appeared broken, from a cursory and basic examination, but he didn’t like the prodding, and he didn’t like it any more the following morning, so I bundled him into his carrier and off to Parramatta Road for a cab ride to the vet with the earliest opening hours.

The vet poked around and removed a scab, releasing a volume of nasty-looking fluid I haven’t seen outside of an Aliens movie. Seems that, although Felix thinks he’s tough, he’s not as tough as the other guy, and a cat-fight cat-bite turned septic, as it would.

So he’s home now, his front leg wrapped up to the shoulder, with a drain in place and antibiotics on board. I think the pain relief wore off not long after I got him home, but it could be he just doesn’t like the sock, which, while keeping him from draining all over the apartment, also keeps his paw from straightening normally, so he’s en pointe, as it were, but just with one foot.

Theo takes full advantage of Felix’s reduced mobility, as he’d otherwise be blocked or chased out of the various prime locations for being petted, but Felix does his best to solicit attention, looking like one of those paint-by-numbers exaggerated sad-eyed cats, if slightly less bedraggled.

That’s at least three lives down since I’ve had him, and as a rescue, probably four to five all up. Perhaps it’s time to transform him into an indoor-only cat. If I can stand the complaining.

I’ll get some Blue Mountains pictures, of which there are not many, up in the next few days, so that there’s something that isn’t about pus posted here.

1 comment:

Bill said...

Because we are crazy people we take the orange cat out on a leash. As I sit in the yard having an IPA and reading about Lyndon Johnson Orange prowls around, mostly eating grass. She caught a mouse the other day, though, and seemed to enjoy it a great deal.