Cats n' Blogs

So, Hissy's back home from the vet. What an ordeal.

Monday afternoon, my friend and neighbor Feline Bill came on up to the ranch and helped me wrangle the cat. We have a host of feral cats in the backyard that FB is used to grabbing by the scruff of the neck and hoisting through his kitchen window, and that's just what he did with Hissy, after a five-minute struggle that mercifully ended with Kitty in her carrier and no one sustaining any injuries. He ain't called Feline Bill for nothin'.

And not a moment too soon, either, because as I was waiting with Hissy in the exam room, I saw that the blood I'd thought was coming from her mouth was, in fact, from a puncture wound on her neck. The only thing I could think at the time was that somehow, during her two-week hideout in the closet, that she'd caught her neck on a coat hanger. Turns out the thread she swallowed two weeks ago HAD A FUCKING NEEDLE ATTACHED TO IT and the puncture wound was from the needle trying to work its way out. Lord Jesus shit. How the hell can a cat walk around for two weeks with a needle stuck in her throat and not die? She never stopped eating the whole time, either--I knew she couldn't be that terribly off when I plunked a can of 9 Lives in front of her and she snarfed it down. But still--good lord.

In addition to excavating the needle from Hissy's trachea, the vet also had to yank a rotten canine (feline?) tooth from her mouth and put in a fake one, clean her gums, excise the abscessed flesh around the puncture wound, put in a surgical drain, and update her shots. I am a shitty parent. I have not taken my cats to the vet once since I've had them--not counting this crisis, of course--because it's been damn near impossible to get them in a cage. Why I didn't think of Feline Bill sooner is beyond me. I mean, I've only been here five years!

FB graciously declined any payment save a bottle of beer, which was doubly lovely because that vet bill cost more than a plane ticket to Singapore. But it's well worth it to save the life of my little beast, whom I hope will think twice before she ingests thread again. I did a thorough vaccuuming of my room yesterday and dug about five needles out of the rug (shudder!) and put away the thread so she won't be tempted.

Hissy's getting back to her normal schizo self--she's been kinda puttering around the apartment, drinking a little water, eating a little Meow Mix, lightly brushing against my ankles, and bothering her sister, who meowed so piteously upon her absence but hissed in her face the moment she tried to bother her. And, oh yes, if I may so brag, everyone at the vet loved Hissy and said she behaved extremely well, and wasn't she a gorgeous little cat. Aw! My little munchkin is so precious. (I allow myself mushiness over cats, stuffed animals, babies, and assorted other blameless species. Oh, and the elderly, as long as they're not poking me in the back like that crotchety old sonofabitch at the Strand three years ago.)

Thanks to Dr. Glasser and the staff at Steinway Court Veterinarian, Feline Bill and his lovely wife for lending me the cat carrier, and the various friends and fellow bloggers who've offered their comfort and condolences the past few days. Of course, I can't express just how grateful I am to the financial/psychological/veterinary/technical/parental unit who footed the bill without batting an eyelash. Thanks, Dad. You're the best.

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