Z Cat

Orange Cat has his own ring tone because there was a song written about him. Something about how he's going to jump out the window someday. I would use it as my opening quote, but I don't know the song.

Zissou, His Lordship, His Royal Orangeness, the Orange Cat, was shot on Thursday. Not shot dead, but shot in his right front leg, with multiple fractures to the ulna. I've been posting updates on Facebook but here's the story.

When I got home from work, I heard him crying. Usually he keeps up that crying as he trots up to the garage, letting me know he's here and he's hungry. This time, he didn't come. I had to go looking, and finally found him across the road by the llama pasture. He limped to me on three legs for a few steps, then stopped. He didn't like me carrying him, but he did eat with a hearty appetite, so I wasn't sure I should take him to the vet - until I saw blood on the floor. And in fact I still didn't see the damage (it's right at a joint, one of those knee/shoulder type joints that are backwards in four-legged critters) until I got him to the emergency room.

We assumed he'd tangled with another animal, and the wound would  be cleaned, sutured and dressed. Because there was another injury ahead of him and a car accident victim on its way, they suggested I go home and watch the World Series and they would call. The first call was to ask me to authorize X-rays because the doctor thought there might be a fracture. The second call was the doctor, saying she thought he was shot: there were metal fragments and multiple fractures. She would debride as much as she could, wouldn't be able to suture, would splint for now but we "might have to discuss amputation somewhere down the road."

<eyes stinging> Why Zissou, the joy of my life? Well, because Zissou goes outside and runs around and gets into things. One of the things I dislike about Myfanwy is that she's always here! Like the best houseguests, Zissou drops in to eat, is appreciative, and then vanishes.

I went through several stages of grief that night, including blinding red anger and revenge fantasies. Who shot my cat? But in reality I knew: I will never know who shot my cat, or why. And despite the disbelief I keep running into, I find it pretty easy to believe. There are shotguns fired around here ALL THE TIME. I live in Farm Country, Flyover Land, Shotgun-and-Pickup Territory. Farms are divided by belts of woodland, and everybody hunts. Meanwhile, cats (and dogs) roam and get into things. I have often fantasized about fixing my shotgun sights on that hound that barks all night - not to mention Myfanwy - and I can easily imagine lots of scenarios that make sense. Maybe he was up a tree and a trigger-happy hunter thought he was a squirrel, or a raccoon. Maybe he was chasing chickens. Who knows?

Truly, it does no good to think bad thoughts about people. I think the shock and disblief comes mostly from suburban folks who maybe picture someone shooting their pet on their concrete stoop? This cat has a wide territory, and I don't know what he gets up to all day. I'm sure he's been in the woods. Hunters can mistakenly shoot ONE ANOTHER! (Should I start dressing him in bright orange? Wait, he IS orange!)

Anyway, if an animal had fought with him, we wouldn't blame the animal. Somehow he tangled with an armed human, but made his way home.

... Where he is supposed to stay crated or in a small room where he can't jump up onto - or, worse, down from - anything, jarring that joint. The first night, I lay on the floor with him, thinking he was hurting too bad to try any foolish jumping. We curled up and watched the Cardinals win the World Series on my BlackBerry; he burrowed in my armpit; and as soon as I got comfortable, he climbed up onto the bed. Climbing, not jumping, and he is splinted, and I don't think it did any damage, but so much for trusting that cat. He has to be confined.

He's pretty mad about it. First I had him in the bathroom but I had all kinds of visions of him jumping onto the toilet or the vanity, so I bought a dog crate. And a pet bed, and a shallow litter pan. He hated the pet bed and trashed the joint until I got the message - he prefers a blanket. And he prefers the freedom to roam around. He still hasn't quite gotten the hang of walking because his leg is splinted DOWNWARD, not out front where he would hold it - it gets in his way. So to compensate, he takes off with a spring from the hind legs that propels him pretty far, pretty fast. Then he uses the wall for balance. But he finds all of this exhausting, and this afternoon I let him crawl UNDER the bed and hide.

It's pretty exhausting for me, too, just worrying about that silly cat. He'll go back in two weeks to have his dressing removed, and then two weeks after that we'll have new X rays to see how the mending is going. That's when I'm worried she'll start talking about amputation again.

I do appreciate all the help (advice, suggestions) and humor we've received. My son-in-law (!) suggested I report the incident to the sheriff, in case there are teenagers or somebody running around taking shots at domestic animals, so I did. The deputy was very kind, and noted all my vet bills in his notebok in case they do find anybody, but I felt foolish and said so. "For all I know, they thought he was a possum and said, 'I'm gonna get that sumbitch!'" I told him. He laughed and agreed.

Twelve to sixteen WEEKS.

 

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[Rhiannon]

http://www.sing365.com/music/Lyric.nsf/Murder-Or-A-Heart-Attack-lyrics-Old-97's/4343E95FB9D3C25C48256A2C000787E3