Poor Kitty Part the Second
Oh, boy. Pardon the cat posts, but cat-drama abounds.
Last night, we carried poor Frankenfishie to the litter for a potty break. She showed no interest and only wanted to go lay down again. Back into the room she went. She lay down, and in the elapsed time between leaving her there and bringing her a plate of food, she lost control and peed all over the bed.
She knows this is bad, and so she hid in misery. There is no way to explain to a scared cat that, no, really, it's not your fault and everything is just fine. It's just a little accidental pee. Okay. A lot. But still, she couldn't help it, the poor dear.
Since then, there have been no more errors; the lingering anesthesia apparently just made it hard for her to control her hind end.
However, after hauling her out to take her for her second potty break, we discovered a nasty wound on her neck; perplexing, since she hasn't even seen the other cats since she came home. Sargon was totally freaked out, but I recognized it for what it is: a ruptured abscess, caused by a closed puncture wound she probably got before we even brought her indoors. Luckily, I know how to treat abscesses so I did some field dressing.
Poor Fish was extremely good while I cleaned the wound. She did no more than grunt in discomfort a couple of times as I drained it. I've said it before, but it bears repeating. I can't believe how brave she is. The abscess should be okay until she's recovered a little more and I can take her back to the vet to have it checked and maybe get her some antibiotics to keep it from recurring.
It was just harrowing, having to deal with a sick kitty and convincing Sargon that, no, Sudden Death is not on the list of symptoms and side-effects of an abscess. In fact, they're incredibly common, and if they were generally lethal there would be far fewer cats. I'm just glad one of us knew not to blow a gasket at the sight of the wound (which was plenty disgusting, thanks).
After that was settled, we tried to sleep, but she threw up during the night (politely leaving the bed), and that was the last straw on the back of my panicky camel. I had a full-blown anxiety attack at 2 a.m., complete with chills and shivering, and I had to get up and read for a while to make it stop. This is way worse than it sounds, and was the most exhausting part, really. I had to wrap up in three blankets and apply a different cat to strategic parts of my anatomy before I felt human again. I didn't get back to sleep until six thirty.
To make things even more festive, I can't exercise. Class last night was a bust; I had to quit partway through and just watch. I did something to my leg about a week ago, and now the tendon that runs along the front of my hip and down the front of my leg is popping and snapping painfully. Usually, this kind of thing just goes away, but this has lingered. I have to stay off it until it decides not to hate my guts. So every time I stand up or sit down, it makes angry clicking noises and hurts me.
Considering how little sleep I got last night, a lack of physical exertion is entirely welcome.
For now, Fish is fine, lying in a sunbeam, and she shows every sign of making a full recovery. Cats are amazingly stoic, hardy creatures, and there's really nothing to fret about. It's just hard not to worry about her.
I did cry last night over her stitches, but Sargon is the one who asked me to put her on the phone this morning, and she's the one who cocked her head and looked around for Daddy, something none of the other cats have ever done.
That got me all teary, too, but in a different way. I'd better take damn good care of this cat. She means a whole Hell of a lot to my husband.
link
Last night, we carried poor Frankenfishie to the litter for a potty break. She showed no interest and only wanted to go lay down again. Back into the room she went. She lay down, and in the elapsed time between leaving her there and bringing her a plate of food, she lost control and peed all over the bed.
She knows this is bad, and so she hid in misery. There is no way to explain to a scared cat that, no, really, it's not your fault and everything is just fine. It's just a little accidental pee. Okay. A lot. But still, she couldn't help it, the poor dear.
Since then, there have been no more errors; the lingering anesthesia apparently just made it hard for her to control her hind end.
However, after hauling her out to take her for her second potty break, we discovered a nasty wound on her neck; perplexing, since she hasn't even seen the other cats since she came home. Sargon was totally freaked out, but I recognized it for what it is: a ruptured abscess, caused by a closed puncture wound she probably got before we even brought her indoors. Luckily, I know how to treat abscesses so I did some field dressing.
Poor Fish was extremely good while I cleaned the wound. She did no more than grunt in discomfort a couple of times as I drained it. I've said it before, but it bears repeating. I can't believe how brave she is. The abscess should be okay until she's recovered a little more and I can take her back to the vet to have it checked and maybe get her some antibiotics to keep it from recurring.
It was just harrowing, having to deal with a sick kitty and convincing Sargon that, no, Sudden Death is not on the list of symptoms and side-effects of an abscess. In fact, they're incredibly common, and if they were generally lethal there would be far fewer cats. I'm just glad one of us knew not to blow a gasket at the sight of the wound (which was plenty disgusting, thanks).
After that was settled, we tried to sleep, but she threw up during the night (politely leaving the bed), and that was the last straw on the back of my panicky camel. I had a full-blown anxiety attack at 2 a.m., complete with chills and shivering, and I had to get up and read for a while to make it stop. This is way worse than it sounds, and was the most exhausting part, really. I had to wrap up in three blankets and apply a different cat to strategic parts of my anatomy before I felt human again. I didn't get back to sleep until six thirty.
To make things even more festive, I can't exercise. Class last night was a bust; I had to quit partway through and just watch. I did something to my leg about a week ago, and now the tendon that runs along the front of my hip and down the front of my leg is popping and snapping painfully. Usually, this kind of thing just goes away, but this has lingered. I have to stay off it until it decides not to hate my guts. So every time I stand up or sit down, it makes angry clicking noises and hurts me.
Considering how little sleep I got last night, a lack of physical exertion is entirely welcome.
For now, Fish is fine, lying in a sunbeam, and she shows every sign of making a full recovery. Cats are amazingly stoic, hardy creatures, and there's really nothing to fret about. It's just hard not to worry about her.
I did cry last night over her stitches, but Sargon is the one who asked me to put her on the phone this morning, and she's the one who cocked her head and looked around for Daddy, something none of the other cats have ever done.
That got me all teary, too, but in a different way. I'd better take damn good care of this cat. She means a whole Hell of a lot to my husband.
link