Limping Ginger

MasterB is under the weather. He went out a happy healthy boy last night, and came in a quiet limping ginger.
All he wanted to do was to get to bed, and being examined by me wasn’t on his wish list. I let him sleep, having seen no obvious injuries. He moved about in the night; sofa, his bed, sofa, his bed again. He seemed happy enough this morning, lying on his back, but not hungry. I had a telephone consultation with a vet nurse. Actually I had already had a telephone consultation with another vet nurse last night. Somewhat reassured I set off for work, a niggling worry in my mind that he had been hit by a car.
In the garden I discovered the cause of his injury: a fight. His collar lay among a pile of fur, mostly grey I was pleased to note, only a little bit of ginger fluff in there.
I put the collar in my bag, left the fur where it was, headed for the bus, and another telephone consultation with the second vet nurse.
The thing is, and I may have mentioned this before, MasterB is not a natural fighter. Cat loved a scrap. Intimidating other cats out of the garden, and getting his teeth and claws stuck in to any foolish enough to challenge him, was a daily pleasure. For most of his life, a day without a fight was a day wasted.
Not so MasterB.
He has tended to be friendly to other cats, and upset and surprised when his amicable overtures have met with hisses and unsheathed claws. About a year ago, it seemed to occur to him that he ought to learn to fight. He wasn’t very good at it.

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