Update on Zorro-- A Visit with the Vet

I didn't get much sleep last night. I spent most of it tossing and turning, worrying about Zorro, and trying to figure out how to get him to the vet.

At 11:00pm, I tiptoed into the mudroom for one last check on him. The bits of dry food I'd placed on his bed earlier were still there. Clearly, he wasn't feeling well. The "normal" Zorro never leaves a scrap of food behind. He barely stirs as I stroke and brush his hair and search for any injuries I might have missed. When I reach his left hind leg, it feels as though bubbles are popping underneath my fingers. It feels like rice-crispies. I start palpating his leg and searching for a cuts, scratches or swellings in that area. I find what I think may be another puncture wound, but Zorro starts growling and squirming in his bed, so I decide to leave him alone for the night.

Friday June 17th
6:00am
I turn off my alarm and drag my weary self out from under the duvet. I head straight for the mudroom. I don't think Zorro's injuries were life threatening, but I'm a worrier and I'm a bit afraid of what I might find on the other side of the door. Thankfully, when I open it, he's there, curled up in his bed, his rib cage rising and falling with every breath. The kibbles are gone and his water dish is empty. He purrs as I stroke his fur. Unfortunately, his leg still has that rice-crispies feel.

I leave Zorro and rush through my barn chores. By 7:30 I'm showered and ready to head to work. But first, I plan to stop at the vet's office and drop off the patient. They told me on the phone last night that I'd have to be there with Zorro for them to examine him, but of course I can't be, because I work. Surely though, if I show up with him, they'll take him and care for him-- for a fee of course. If they won't, then I figure I'll bring him to work with me, and take him to the Truro clinic on my lunch break. It's not a great plan, but if I don't get him antibiotics today, then I'll likely have to pay for an emergency call on the weekend, or wait until Monday.

I open the door to the cat-carrier and Zorro obligingly limps inside, where he curls up contentedly until the truck starts moving. Then he yowls at top volume for the entire 25 minute drive. Finally we arrive at the vet's, just as they're opening for the day. I gently maneuver the loaded cat-carrier through the front doors, then I announce that I don't have an appointment, but I do have an injured cat, and a dilemma.

The woman behind the desk (Kelly, I believe), recognizes me (sadly, I come here a lot). She has me sign a form, then tells me to go ahead and leave him, they'll make sure he is taken care of, and they'll call me with any questions or instructions.

1:00pm
I call the vet to see whether Zorro is ok. He is, and they've given him a long-acting antibiotic so I won't have to force daily doses of medicine down his throat.

4:15pm
Kelly rings up my bill as another girl brings Zorro out to me. They tell me he was pretty easy to work with. I'm not surprised. He never once tried to scratch or bite me last night, despite my poking and prodding. The vet rounds the corner and I ask whether she found the source of the "rice-crispies" on Zorro's hind leg. She gives me a blank look. "His hind leg? I must have missed that." The younger assistant pipes up: "no, we didn't find anything, but remember, he was the cat that didn't like us to touch his hind legs" (now to me, this would be a cue that there might be something wrong with his hind legs, but that's just me). "Well," says the vet, "bring him back here, lets take another quick look." Then she looks at me "this is why we like owners to be here when the animals are examined." Point taken.

A few minutes later, and I'm holding Zorro's cat carrier again. They found puncture wounds on each of his hind legs. They tell me the antibiotics should take care of them. It's time to take him home.


9:00pm
Zorro still spends much of his time in bed, but he has done some mudroom exploring, and he definitely has his appetite back. So, hopefully after a few more days inside, he'll be fine. I just worry that this all might happen again. Before leaving the vet's office, I asked whether there was anything I could do to deter the Tom cat from picking anymore fights. Kelly said no, but she told me that if I'm sure he's a stray, I can bring him in and they'll euthanize him for me. I just don't think that I can bring myself to do that though.

Ruffles, Meet Murray-- Take 2

Saturday, March 13
Ruffles' first encounter with his equine brother and sister didn't go so well http://citylimitstories.blogspot.com/2010/03/ruffles-meet-murray.html . But the hissing and spitting seemingly left Dave undaunted.

Ruffles has only been to the barn once, but he does have a chance to observe the horses on a daily basis. That's because the big pasture where they spend most of their day can be seen perfectly from our living room picture-window. And of course, since the living room window offers the best view in the house, that's where Dave put Ruffles' functional, but less-than-beautiful, cat tree *sigh*.

Ruffles loves his cat tree. He lays on it, rolls around on it, bats his paws at passers-by from it, but mostly, it's his platform from which to observe his royal kingdom, and its lowly serfs.
Ruffles had been surveying his lands for a full week before the horses arrived, so he was thoroughly shocked when one day, he jumped upon his precious tree, only to see two hoofed invaders merely metres (at least 20 metres) from his sacred perch.

There he was, crouched, with his fur on end, his back arched, and a bone-chilling growling sound coming from his throat. He didn't seem to realize that the intruders (completely oblivious to his presence in the window) were separated from him by a pane of glass. No, he seemed to think he was in mortal danger. Suddenly, he leaped from the tree, a streak of black fur, skidding and sliding across the ceramic tiles on the floor, no doubt en-route to his basement sanctuary.

Somewhere along the way, I managed to scoop him up in an effort to comfort him. I scratched his chin and spoke softly to him as I walked slowly back toward the window. The closer we got, the more he started flailing and growling. Deciding I didn't want my arms and face shredded, I opted to let him come to terms with the horses in his own way.

It took more than a week, but Ruffles' finally re-claimed his throne, in spite of the large creatures wandering within view. Dave interpreted this as a sign that Ruffles was ready to once again try and meet with his loyal subjects.

On Saturday, we called to the horses from the deck, and to our surprise, they came trotting right up to the fence. I went over to scratch their necks and reward them with a few apples. Unbenounced to me, Dave went inside to get the cat. I had my back to the house, but turned abruptly when I heard vehment hissing, spitting and growling sounds. Dave was standing just a few feet from the fence. In his arms was Ruffles, clearly terrified, but also defiant. His ears were flat back, his mouth wide-open, exposing his long, snake-like fangs, and his legs were flailing in all directions in an effort to get away.

Dave: I thought he might be more comfortable coming to see them in the open, instead of in the barn.
Me: You are the cruelest person I know. Take the cat back inside!

Dave did return Ruffles to his natural environment (indoors), probably because the cat had managed to get some traction on his arm, and was preparing to leap away over his shoulder. He had no harness or leash on, and I think even Dave knew that once freed, the cat might find an impossible-to-locate hiding spot.

Thankfully, Ruffles doesn't seem to traumatized. He still sits on his cat-tree watching the horses from a safe distance, though the closer they get, the more his tail starts to twitch.

Ruffles, meet Murray

Sunday, Feb. 28, 2010-- after Canada's hockey victory

Dave has been wanting to "introduce" our evil, black cat "Ruffles" to Murray for years. I have always maintained that this would not be a particularly good idea.

For those of you who disagree, there are a few things you need to know about Ruffles. First, despite the joy he takes in digging his claws and teeth deep into our flesh, he's actually a scaredy cat. He hides under the bed when new people are in the house, and when new animals arrive, he disappears for days. Secondly, he HATES car rides. He howls and yowls, and cowers the entire time. That's why it never seemed like a good idea to bring him to a barn full of thousand-pound animals, and ruthless barn cats.

Unfortunately for Ruffles, I was so elated at having my horses at home, that I gave up trying to argue the point with Dave, and told him sure, Ruffles could finally meet the rest of the family; after all, he didn't have to ride in the car to get there. I did have enough wits about me to insist that we put a harness and leash on him first though. I didn't want to spend the rest of my evening reaching into unknown crevices in search of a frightened cat.

I was still putting on my boots and coat when Dave headed toward the barn, so I don't know exactly what happened in those first moments. I do know that when I walked into the barn, Dave was standing about 10 feet away from Murray's stall with a spitting, hissing, growling, writhing black demon in his arms. It didn't take much convincing to get Dave to bring Ruffles back to the house. I don't think we'll be posing for any full-family photos anytime soon.