hairy Houdini

About a month ago our cat Ollie was patrolling near the creek.  He let out a mighty yowl.  Our dog Slinkee ran to investigate and scared off Ollie’s tormentor, likely a raccoon, mink or weasel.  Ollie seemed fine.  Ten days ago, he awoke us at 5 a.m. to inform us that all was not well.

His adversary had bitten him soundly on his ass, tearing him a new one.  Several new ones, actually.  We found three punctures in his skin, the largest the size of a quarter.  His muscle glistened in the early morning sun.

The wound had abscessed and yielded copious pus.  Jude patched him up.  Since then she has devised several clever outfits to keep him from taking off his bandages.  The one below has a velcro zipper on the back.

All of them have been child’s play (or kitten’s play) to him.  He would leave them on just long enough for us to feel good about ourselves as parents, then go off and come back without them.  They included one of those dreadful plastic cones.  We had it from another injury of his a few years back.

We couldn’t keep it tightly enough around his neck to work then, so this time we tried it around his chest.  He tolerated it several hours, lying on the back of the couch and moving around a lot in the hope that the cone would hit Jude or me in the head.

It was the same tactic he uses with his tail, which he flails with when he’s pissed off at us.  He eventually got bored and squirmed out of it.

But all the rigs served their purpose.  He kept them on long enough for the meds to work.  He’s doing well.  The two smaller holes have closed up and the big one is rebuilding nicely.  He’s down to a bandaid.  He has full mobility.

He should be able to go outside and resume his routes soon.  We’re all looking forward to that, because every evening he lies on the couch and whacks us with his tail.