Patch
Patch, the tame stray I sometimes post about, is now living indoors with me. I noticed last week how emaciated he was, even though he still had an appetite, and knew he was old; he’s seventeen, a good old age for any cat, particularly an outdoor one. I did not want him to die in the neighbor’s garage as his brother did, so last night I carried him into the house, gave him a sponge bath, and showed him where the litter box was. He’s uncertain, but adjusting.
Mom, who just came home from a four-day business trip, isn’t thrilled about having a cat with fleas and a possible contagious illness inside, but she’ll have to deal with it at least until Patch’s blood work comes back and his low grade fever goes down. Yes, I took him to the vet today. He can’t be vaccinated until he’s well, if he recovers, and can’t have a proper bath because it would stress him out further. But he doesn’t have many fleas, mostly dirt, and that can be taken care of quite easily.
Molly is being a dear about it. Of course, she was all over me during the night, purring and rubbing, and a little uncertain about a second cat, but she knows and likes Patch, and is leaving him alone. He’s made his nest in a bedroom closet.
Patch and his late brother Scratch.