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.
Raised Paw, Raised Tail
What Was That?
Well, he’s home. Still limping, but on the mend. He doesn’t say ‘ouch’ when he puts his paw to the ground, but there is still a fair amount of holding it in the air. When he got out of his basket he was rather wobbly, and I thought he might be happy to go to sleep.
He had other plans.
First, dinner. Half a sachet, the vet told me. And that is all he’s had, but if I move towards the kitchen he’s there like a shot.
Keep him in for a few days, she said. I don’t think he was listening. For the past hour he has sat beside the door, only moving if I have gone into the kitchen. He has kept a constant litany, a discontented wail to tell me how much he wants to go out. Just in case I haven’t understood, periodically he has scrabbled at the door.
I was planning an early night anyway, but I think sleep is the only thing that will bring an end to his complaints.
I am consoling myself with the thought that I would be much more worried if he were quiet and lethargic. Except a quiet lethargic cat sounds a lovely idea right now. Continue reading
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.
I have just had an email from Chris at the Cattery. She titled it Trevor, which I really hope isn’t going to be the cat’s name, but maybe it was just to signal his gender. I’ve been on tenterhooks all day wondering how the cat had got on at the vet’s.
Anyway, this is what she says: Continue reading
We’re home and we’ve eaten. One of us had a mouthful, if that, of Sensitive Control, the other a largish meal rounded off with apple crumble. I’ll leave you to guess who ate what.
MasterB is looking a bit brighter I think. He had quite a raised temperature, so received three injections; one to lower the temperature, one to stop him feeling sick, and one of penicillin to fight whatever might be going on. He has a shaved patch by his neck as the vet took blood samples too. Just in case.
Tomorrow we go back and she will see if he is any better. As she said, he was rather floppy. He wanted to stay outside when we got back, but I soon brought him in, and he’s made himself comfortable on the sofa. Continue reading
MasterB went to the vet last week for his annual check up. He also had a hole in his chin I wanted the vet to see. I don’t know if he recognised the street when I parked the car, but he was fantastically vocal as I carried him there, and quite the noisiest pet in the waiting area.
His vet was on holiday, so he saw the locum. Annual vaccinations were administered and his chin checked out. He got a shot of antibiotic too. The scales revealed he has put on nearly a kilo in a year. It has to go. I wouldn’t say he is a greedy cat at all, but maybe I am too generous with the biscuits.
In the Garden With Toy
I was about to head out to work this morning when MasterB’s vet called. She is a big fan of ginger cats, so both Cat and MasterB have been highly appreciated. She fell in love with MasterB on sight, and knowing I had my doubts when I first adopted him she even said she would have him. A few months in, she invited him back to the surgery for a professional photo shoot. His alarmed face now decorates the front of her van.
Today, she explained that she wants to revamp the reminder cards sent out to owners about pet vaccinations. She wondered if I might be able to supply a photo of MasterB standing and side on so she could arrange various bubbles around him saying the different things the vet would do during an annual check up; not just vaccinations, but teeth scaling, ear checks, checking anal glands, and so on. As a quid pro quo, my contact details for cards and calendars of MasterB would appear on the reminder card.
Surely, I said. No problem. I have hundreds of photos of my boy. Continue reading
MasterB has a new friend, a pretty tabby who, I think, lives in one of the houses over the wall. I saw them playing together today, but when I tried to take a photograph of them MasterB rushed towards me and then the tabby ran away. I did get this picture though.
The vet thought Not Cat perfect. She said so several times. She looked almost eager when she pronounced him between twelve and eighteen months. He may grow a little more, but he’s not going to be in Cat’s league for size. “Is that alright?” she said, “I’ll have him if you don’t want him.” I was a bit taken aback, then remembered we’d had the conversation about me wanting an older cat.
It seems everyone who sees Not Cat loves him on sight. Except me. I like him, I’m fond of him, but I don’t yet love him. I hope and expect I shall. But I didn’t love Cat at once. I don’t remember how long it took. My father proposed to my mother after two weeks. He may have taken longer over his dogs, but I don’t think so. I evidently have a slower burning fuse. Continue reading
Two o’clock in the afternoon, and Cat and I were at the vet’s once again.
It was time for his annual boosters, and to see how the treatment has been going.
A nice chat with the vet first to tell her how he’s been while Cat stayed in his basket. She reckons the cortizone is responsible for his renewed jumping powers.
Cat made a reluctant appearance, for once not relishing being the centre of attention. Continue reading