I am sure MasterB’s file must have a sticker on it that denotes ‘anxious owner – expect ‘phone calls’.
Anyway, the vet, when I ‘phoned, (now I am wondering if they might place bets on how long it will be before I call with a question) said MasterB should be fine outside.She advised against covering his wound, said that it was fine for it to be oozing a bit as that meant it was healing, but if he was still limping on Monday I should bring him back.
So out we went.
MasterB had become relatively resigned to his incarceration, and at first did not follow me, but when I picked him up and placed him in the hall he hightailed it down the stairs. I wondered if he would guess an outing was in the offing when the collar went round his neck.
My plan was to chaperon him. I had a camera and some notes to read. I reckoned he would get tired quite quickly and want to come back in.
How wrong I was.
He had Things To Do. There was territory to mark; he rubbed his face against virtually every plant in the garden. There was news to collect; corners in particular were carefully sniffed, as was the garden furniture. There was the wall to watch; this is where his adversary enters and leaves the garden, and by MasterB’s demeanour, I’d say the fights and vets bills will continue.
It was after more than an hour that I insisted we come in. I was cold. I had taken as many photographs of the garden flowers as I could want or need. I had photographed MasterB repeatedly; sometimes even getting him in focus.
After less than five minutes inside and a couple of mouthfuls of his dinner, he was at the door, demanding egress.
I abandoned the chaperon role, let him into the garden, and made my dinner.
He’s still outside. I have the windows open, my water spray is charged and ready to use, and I am listening for any sounds of feline aggression. If there’s a fight, I am going to be on hand with reinforcements.