So... remember how I said I hate cats? And then remember how I said we might only have 3 now instead of 4?
Yeah. Not so much.
So, about a week ago, hubs wakes me up about 1 in the morning because I needed to "come see McDougal's leg, I think it's broken." Le sigh. I was like "WTF?!? Hell no! Okay, fine." and, sure enough, there's McDougal (pictured, but about 2 years ago. Y'know, I'm not even sure if I'm spelling his name right; how embarrassing) walking on 3 paws with one of his legs dangling lamely at his side.
This is the cat that never comes inside; he's basically feral. He lives in the yard and only comes inside to eat (kind of like the raccoons, actually) he refuses to be touched by human hands, I don't think I've ever actually pet him, not since he was the size he was in that picture up there, anyway. And now he's got a broken fucking leg and it's 1 in the morning. And, I'm not wearing any pants.
So, we go and get the cat cage, although in this case it's a plastic Ikea bin with holes drilled into the lid, and we put the wailing, angry cat in the bin and safely seal him in with duct tape... and, of course, our perfect cat containment method fails and the broken ass cat with the lame leg squeezes himself out of the box and zooms through the cat door before you can say "OH MY GOD IT'S A FLYING CAT!" And so I go out the door after him, in my tank top and my no pants at 1 in the morning, and end up on my hands and knees in the driveway, looking at him hiding directly in the middle underneath my giant car where there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to get him out of there. I think he actually flipped me off with one of his little paws. So, we'll wait for him to come out, right? Okay, we'll wait. I'm allowed to go back to bed and hubs agrees to stand watch and will come and wake me up as soon as the cat makes an appearance.
|Feral days are just beginning|
Okay, so now it's a week later and we haven't seen hide nor fur of him. We assume the worst. Wouldn't you? He's got a broken leg, he hasn't come in the house so he hasn't eaten anything, he won't allow himself to be touched by human hands so it's not like a neighbor is going to adopt him, how the HELL can he survive? But we've informed the neighbors of the situation and everybody has been on the lookout. Anyway, it's a week later and Child 2 comes into the room and announces "MCDOUGAL IS IN THE TV ROOM!" and suffice it to say we were very surprised. But we block off the doors and I go out and I buy an actual cat carrier since it's 1 in the afternoon at this point (and I have pants on), and the next day (which was today) hubs brings him to the vet. We have 2 options: 1. Surgery ($2000) or 2. Splint his terribly, terribly broken leg, keep him locked in a dog kennel type thing so he can't run around, administer pain killers and antibiotics twice a day and bring him back to the vet once a week for a check up. For five weeks. This option was $500 and was the one we chose.
So, now we have a feral cat with a splint on his leg locked in a cage in our garage screaming his fucking head off, and we get to go in there twice a day and give him medicine. But what is our other option? Let him walk around in constant pain with a broken ass leg? Let him just die?
Anybody want a cat with a broken leg? He's really cool, as far as you know. And free!