This morning Dee was on her way to work and was stopped by our big, blokey neighbour from a few doors down. “OMG! How is Sasha? She is the life of our street! Can we visit her when she comes home?” he said, genuinely disturbed in an ultra-concerned way.
Meanwhile I had had to race to work to deal with stuff that had flared up – today being our union Council Meeting (a big deal).
While I was power-walking down the enormous corridor outside the Convention Centre’s exhibition rooms I rang the vet. I walked 200ms while on hold and was still about 100m from our meeting room (that’s how big this place is) before the vet came on the phone and said the cat had survived the surgery and was doing incredibly well under the circumstances. And so later today we could take the cat home. Yay!
“MAY BITE” (lol really?)
I had missed the cat quite profoundly. I had heard her bell – or thought I had done – on numerous occasions. I had even “seen” her a few times. It was a bit like how when you start dating a girl and you start seeing her, hearing her, getting references to her – like EVERYWHERE. Her fate and her being was on my brain like that finger-alien in the movie – ALIEN.
At about 3:30pm we turned up at the UQ clinic and finalised the bill. It was an almost even $4500.
Yep. My head said, “Holy shit!?” But my heart said, “Fair enough”. In life I invariably go with my heart when it comes to choices.
Anyway. That paid we sat down with the vet and he showed us the x-rays. The “BEFORE” pictures showed her small femur shattered quite completely. It was now 4 separate pieces. The “AFTER” pictures with its 5mm wide steel rod and numerous pins and other wirey wrappings would now make the TERMINATOR jealous.
We were given some pills to give her every evening and told she had a “nicotine patch” on her leg. But instead of nicotine it was actually “OPIUM”. I was almost jealous.
She went nuts again in the car. She howled and spun around her cage as best she could. She was shaking with fear — I was used to this — but then suddenly she was pissing everywhere. Like a huge stinky stream right in my direction. I guess her sedatives, plus even more stress, must have caused her to lose a bit of composure – plus she is a bit of a bitch.
I then started wondering if it was better if she saw the local vet for her numerous follow up vet-visits (I will investigate).
At home she was a bit calmer, but wanted to walked around. She could “walk”. Just dragging her right hind leg, but it wasn’t very dignified. I didn’t want to force her to rest so I was hyper-pleased when eventually she just laid down. I brought her food, right to her mouth – but she wasn’t interested in anything until I tried some cheese. Yum.
She ate some yoghurt too and then grew tired of food. I needed to unpack the car and do some chores so I left her there and locked up the house and ran downstairs. After hurriedly hanging out washing, unpacking the car, cleaning and sorting out her kitty litter tray, I came back upstairs to find her GONE.
I ran around the house in a PANIC searching for an exit I had somehow forgot to close. All the while I was thinking what everyone would say – “OMG! YOU FUCKING IDIOT — HOW COULD YOU LOSE A LAME CAT?”
But all exits were safely sealed. After a bit more struggling hands-and-knees investigation I found her in the darkest, most secure place of the house – underneath our bed (barely 12cms off the floor). OBVIOUSLY! PHEW!
She was asleep and oblivious to my pain and concern. I left her there and started work on her new “enclosure.”
See the vet was like ultra-serious — “You need to keep her in a room, or a cage, restrict her movements – absolutely remove anything she can jump on – and keep that so for TWO MONTHS”. Woah. I mean – “WOAH!” Dee and I looked at eachother in that “no-fucking-way-are-we-gonna-be-able-to-do-this” kinda way.
A few of you know Sash and you will know what a determined animal she is. But I set about to turn the music room into a decent-sized enclosure with a view of the backyard, heaps of natural light and space to roam, but nothing much to leap upon.
So I dragged up an old kitchen table from downstairs – cleaned it, wrapped it in a blanket and put it on its side. At the other doorway I used an old mattress, which I taped to the wall. I made her a bed, placed her cat tray with fresh litter, I put in her food and crunchies. Then I dug her out from under the bed – while she protested quite vociferously.
She explored her new “enclosure” with obvious contempt. She managed a pee, not very accurately, in her litter. Then, as I was momentarily distracted, she leapt up and over the 1.2m “wall” I had spent about 20 minutes lovingly constructing. I desperately tried to stop her but it all happened in an instant. I could not believe she could leap so high on just one hind leg – then survive the leap down onto the wooden floor of the kitchen.
She then went straight back under our bed.
I was then convinced – more than ever – just to let her be comfortable in the house. I would not let her out, but she could go where she pleased – inside. She’s not stupid, but she is quite aware of the impossibility of escape from the house other than her cat-door or the “human doors”. So she won’t leap up on stuff in the hope of escape. She knows that shit is futile.
I think that will help her re-habilitation. I mean doctors/vets just generalise with patients. I know Sasha, and I am prepared to be all “tough-love” – but I also know her and her mental-health is an important consideration. She is wild, she needs human attention.
Her treats after successfully swallowing her medication.
DJ GLAD RAPPA 