Raedthinn started off a few years ago as a half-starved half-wild kitten. He quickly grew to be a pretty enormous housecat. While it seems he’s perfectly happy with his size, it does mean that he doesn’t fit certain places that he, as a housecat, is supposed to. Including the top of this little cat playhouse thing:
On the other end of the humor spectrum, visible in the background is what may be one of the last photos of Fingers. A few days ago she developed a lump on the left side of her throat that quickly grew… and quickly lost fur as she scratched at it. By yesterday it was an ugly, hideous thing an inch and a half in diameter that looked like a bright blood-red scab; it prevented her from moving her head, and clearly was a source of great pain. By this morning she was clearly weak from lack of eating and, most obviously, agony. So I caught her and put her in the basement with ready access to food and water, hoping that without other feline competition she could eat in peace. A few hours later I went down to check on her… and saw just about the nastiest, most freakin’ horrible thing I’ve seen in a good long while. She managed to scratch through the scab-thing, releasing what looked for all the world like chocolate milk. *Lots* of chocolate milk. VAST quantities of the stuff, actually spurting out all over everywhere. It was… really, really horribly disgusting. So, into the crate she went, and then on to the vet. The end result was that the vet cut away the affected skin. Which turned out to be just about a *quarter* of the skin on her neck… from right down the middle up her throat, to the left side below her ear. It was really… tragic. Since this ain’t Rotten.com or Ogrish, I will post no photos of it. It’s sufficient to saw that her muscles are exposed over an area of about 4 square inches. The vet said she should pull through fine… but I have doubts.
This sort of thing is just par for the course for outside cats. The world is full of dangers, pain and sorrows, and outdoor cats are exposed to more than their share of it. One must accept that this is so, because it is so. Still, one cannot be expected to be happy about it. It was not a happy day.
To make the day even less cheerful, while at the vet I saw a set of Xrays on the wall display, showing the interior torso of a largish dog. Complete with two air rifle pellets. And on the floor was a vet-nurse, sitting with that very dog, who looked in his own bandaged and chest-tubed way as bad or even worse than Fingers. I gather that he was not expected to pull through. As I left the vets office with Fingers – sedated really heavily (Fingers, not me) – I passed an Animal Control cop going to check on the dog. While I’m not a dog person, I hope that someone, real soon now, is going to get a nice visit from some cops who *are* dog people.