This morning, Colin came home grumpy as anything and was growling at everyone. Normally he's super affectionate in the morning.
Not good.
I kept trying to stroke him, but despite sitting next to me in his usual morning place on the bed he continued to growl and hiss.
I went to work, hoping he would calm down a bit for when I got back.
Then when I got back from work he was still. In a foul mood and THEN I noticed blood on the pillow.
So off to the vet I go.
The vet is next door so I ask if they have any free spaces, they say, cone back in half an hour.
So I go home and try to get Colin in the carry case. I try to put him in, he totally freaks out, screaming like I'm about to commit murder. He runs under the bed, I notice a limp.
I have to remove the mattress from the bed and the slats in order to chase him out the room.
He limps around. And manages to get behind the kitchen cabinets. I get him out, block off the kitchen cabinets and put on oven gloves.
No luck. Eventually I throw a blanket over him and manage to bundle him into the carry case much to his displeasure.
So in to the vet we go. They give him some pretty heavy sedation as by now he is panting, hissing, yowling and growling.
When the sedative took affect, they gave him a thorough checking. Kidneys fine. Back legs fine. Spine fine. Front paw.. YOOOIIIWWELMMMNNSSSSSS.
Even under sedation.
"ok, that really hurts".
So they shave off his fur.
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First the vet thought it was a bite, because it's punctured all the layers of the skin, but there's no puncture in the flesh and no puncture behind it.
It's more likely he caught himself on something sharp when jumping and ripped open his skin.
Anyway, poor mite needed a couple of stitches, antibiotics, painkillers and a collar of shame.
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They stitch him up. The vet says he's also not allowed out in the garden until the collar of shame comes off.
So I need to buy a litter tray (joy)!
I took him home (200pln down).
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He tries to make himself comfortable on the bed, although clearly not happy with his torture device, so I leave at about 12.30 to do Easter shopping (a full two hours after I was supposed to).
I come home to this:
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I swear this cat is fucking Houdini.
Anyway, I value my life so I'm. Not going to attempt to put it back on. Poor bastard's been traumatised enough as it is.
He hates me now. He's looking at me with sad eyes as if he's thinking "I trusted you, I'm so upset".
Get well soon Colin.