Loup-Garou has been struggling with a hematoma in his ear lately. The Man in White had gently drained the hematoma and then injected something that was supposed to stop the ear from filling up again. To no avail alas, and so one Monday morning the Mistress was forced to email her manager that she was going to come in later and bring the hapless feline to the Man in White for follow-up treatment.
To say that the ear was nearly bursting is an understatement. I really was wondering what would happen first: Loup-Garoup scratching it open or the seams bursting. Fortunately the Man in White is deft with a syringe. He plunked it in and lo and behold we had a veritable fountain of yellowish fluid. Followed by a bit of blood at the end and Loup-Garou complaining.
A new dose of the stop-swelling fluid was injected and the Man in White supposed that if this didn’t work we had to go for more radical measures, which would have our black furry friend ending up with a shriveled ear. Just like our woofie Critter had.
Fortunately we are now one week further and it seems as if the swelling hasn’t come back. Loup-Garou now sports a rakish floppy ear. And is still not amused.
The same day, however, would not end in peace. When I returned from my work Bouncing Psycho remarked that someone is bleeding badly. Indeed, I had only to follow the blood trail from the living room to the garden and find little Frankette suffering the most grieveous leg-wound I’ve ever seen on a kitty. Man, she was bleeding ! I mean, literally running empty. No time was wasted, the poor kitty was thrown into the travel cage -which she promptly sh*tted in fear- and driven to the Man in White, who was fortunately home and available. He too did not waste any time and immediately prepared his surgery kit. It had been in the oven, being sterilized, and was still scalding hot to the touch. But he laid it out and prepped our bleeding kitty for the operation.
What was unusual was the he asked me to attend the surgery – if I thought I could handle it. Handle it ? Me having a certificate for First Aid and not being able to handle a bit of surgery ? Of course I could !
And so I was tasked to monitor Frankette’s breathing, while the Man in White would staunch the bleeding, clean up the wound, and sew it shut. It was only afterwards, when I had time to reflect upon it, that I realized the Man in White had been exceptionally kind to me: Frankette had lost a frightening amount of blood, the gums around her teeth were stark white from blood-loss. She could have died there and then.
But she didn’t. Throughout the surgery her tinly little heart kept beating a steady tattoo, and her lovely furred flanks kept going up and down with that delightfully regular rhythm indicating she was inhaling and exhaling well and deeply. She withstood the surgery well, my sweet Frankenkitty, and was showing signs of waking up by the time the final stitches were being knotted.
Just to make sure, the Man in White laid up double stitches (to no avail, as I am typing this one week later Frankette has removed ALL of the stitches and the wound is open) and he explained that he doesn’t really like such nonsense as bandages (which indeed Frankette removed all by herself within a few hours) and collars (those lampshade-thingies that make life for recovering pets a living hell) so he would only put on a light bandage for the first hours and just let her be. I was given a prescription for anti-biotics and could go home again with the bloodied travel-cage and the awakening kitty.
Those anti-biotics are fun. They’re supposed to taste yummy so the cats would willingly take them. Both Loup-Garou and Frankette now had to follow the treatment and I can tell you that neither wanted anything to do with these tiny pink pills. They didn’t like them and promptly spat them out. Unfortunately for both felines I happen to be an expert in administering medications to animals. For me it’s the simple routine of catching the hapless feline, putting him/her on the kitchen counter (just the perfect height for my purpose), clamping him/her down under one arm whilst opening the jaws with one hand and popping in the pill with the other, closing the muzzle and keeping it shut until a swallowing movement has been felt. Then letting the now thoroughly pissed-off feline go. Fun.
Frankette had lost so much blood that the rest of that day she slept, slept and slept again. She did lap up a bit of cat-milk I gave her, but she slept. The day after, however, was entirely devoted to… “building up”, I guess you could call it. I have never ever seen before in my entire life that such a little kitty could eat so much as that day. Every half hour she would wander over to the feeding bowls and start to shovel the grub. I mean: really shoveling the grub. The other cats stood no chance, when Frankette came bunkering they had to sit back and admire her.
But she is doing rather well now. I can only hope that the wound will close nicely, even though the stitches have all gone- she removed them herself ! She doesn’t seem to be in much pain, walks easily and without hesitation. And the wound seems to keep clean as well. Which makes me wonder what had caused it in the first place. A cat-fight would leave a festering wound. Therefore she must have cut herself on something.
But on what ?
And now Bean Sidhe is walking around with a sore caudal appendage: his tail is thick at the base and whenever we try to touch him there he growls, hisses, and bites. Not his usual laid-back self. If this continues a new visit to the Man In White is in order. Tch… Spring… all kinds of ailments seem to sprout these days.
Pictures below: Frankette – the bandaged paw
Loup-Garou – the floppy aural appendage