Tag: Cats

That Girl is Poisoned

Two weeks ago, as Justin and I were preparing to head up to bed, Nebula jumped onto the fence. As I made my way toward her, she shouted, “later suckers!” and headed off into the great beyond…or at least she would have shouted at me if she could, because Nebula is sassy.

Justin texted me the following morning (he gets up at 4am; nobody wants to be up that early): “Nebula is limping.” Of course she is. As I headed up to feed them, I saw her at the top of the stairs, but she disappeared before I got to her. I didn’t think much of it. Honestly, Nebula can be a drama queen, so maybe she was just limping for extra pity from Justin. A couple hours later, Xander announced that she was asleep in his chair. Perfect. She’s alive. And she’s asleep.

The day got away from me, and I didn’t give much thought to Nebula and her limping…until around 4pm, when I went in to check on her. And her leg was noticeably swollen.

Well, that leg is huge. So of course I call the vet, only to have their dud vet tech answer (she’s great at her job, she just doesn’t know how to interact with humans). I explained the situation and she told me they couldn’t get me in until Monday, but said, “you should probably find an emergency vet to take her to.” Ughh, that sounds like extra drama for a fat leg. I located a nearby emergency vet, but their website said they were only seeing critical patients. This isn’t critical; this is a fat leg.

I called back (and a more human-friendly receptionist answered). “I just called, because my cat is limping and her leg is swollen. Since the local emergency vet is only seeing critical, can I just go ahead and make an appointment for Monday?” Then the receptionist said, “if it were my cat, I wouldn’t wait until Monday. It could be broken…or she could’ve been bit by a snake.” Oh my glob, did you seriously just say that?! She recommended that I take her to the Auburn Veterinary School, and gave me their number. After calling, I had to catch an angry cat and get her into a crate. If you’ve never tried to put a cat in a crate, you’re missing out on a task that could easily be an olympic event. As an added degree of difficulty, Nebula is the pack leader of the Tailless Trio, with the other two members being 130lbs of boxers, and they were being super nosy. Rufus tried to put his giant boulder head into the cat carrier, which isn’t even possible. But there was a high level of concern.

Seventy-five minutes of psychotic rush hour drivers, and listening to Nebula pitifully cry her pleas. “Set me free. I don’t belong in here. I’m fine, really.” I fell for none of it.

At Auburn, the baby vet student came out to get a history. “And which leg is it?”
“The orange one – I mean, the front left.” This makes more sense if you know I’m terrible with left and right…and also if you can see the cat in question. But she couldn’t see Nebula, so my response just seemed foolish, I’m sure.

I sat in the parking lot waiting…and waiting…and waiting. My Mom texted me, telling me to lock my doors and not get out of my car. Ok, Auburn is a safe little college town. Besides, I’m sure if any predator is coming to Auburn to find their victim, they’re looking for a 20-something college student…not a nearly 40 mom.

I had lots of time to think about what could’ve possibly happened. Since she was acting fine, there was no way it was a snake bite. Also, she had no visible wounds, so obviously she didn’t get into a fight with anyone. Which only left one viable scenario:

Nebula obviously got picked up by a hawk, who didn’t know what he got himself into. She clawed her way loose, and fell to Earth, breaking her leg. It was really the only possibility that made sense.

After an hour, the vet called. “Her leg is noticeably swollen, but she won’t let me get anywhere near it without hissing. The only way I will be able to look at it, is if I sedate her.” Yes, yes, this makes sense. If you get anywhere near Nebula and it’s not on her terms, she will hiss at you. And you will most likely die.

Another hour passed. More patients were showing up, and obviously since it’s an emergency clinic, they deal with the really seriously patients first. Ms Dropped-From-50ft-by-a-Hawk was not high priority. The vet called again: “we sedated her, but she’s still hissing and won’t let me near her. So we have to give her more.” Lady, she weighs 9lbs. Just hold her down and look at her leg, so we can throw a cast on it and I can be on my way!

The upside to spending a random Thursday night in the parking lot at the vet is that there is some great people-watching, along with guessing what everyone is there for. There was a boxer who had to be brought in on a stretcher (and of course I have a huge spot in my heart for sloppy mouthed block heads). An older lady refused to follow the stay in your vehicle rule, and was wandering around at the entrance holding a small dog…or a ferret. Whatever it was, at that hour I can only assume that he was running an animal meth lab and something went wrong. The last of the “honorable mentions” was a large dog that took 3 humans (whose car bragged Creek Life) to control, wearing a muzzle, while the vet student held onto a backup Hannibal Lector cage muzzle – I can’t even imagine what he got into that late at night that required a bedtime visit to the ER.

Finally, after 10pm (which is really 11pm, since Auburn is Central and we live in Eastern, and it’s well past my bedtime), the vet called once more. “We finally got her sedated enough that I was able to fully manipulate the leg. We shaved it, and found that she was bit by a snake.” I’m thinking it’s game over. It’s been 24 hours since she set out into the wilderness to do whatever it is she does when she sneaks out at night. The vet continued, “so we gave her antibiotics, and are sending her home with medicine for pain.” Wait. That’s it??

When the vet student brought Nebula back, I asked, “there’s no worry about venom or anything?” And she blew my mind: “if this had been a dog, it would’ve been a huge deal, and most likely life threatening. But for some reason with cats, they’re usually fine.” She then warned that because Nebula was double-sedated, she would probably be extra sleepy for a few hours.

Thirty minutes into our drive home she came back around and started pitifully crying again. So much for hours of sleepy sedated mini-kitty.

When we finally got home, Nebula was back to her sassy self, full of hiss and spit. I set her free, and discovered that the shave job left Nebula with catpris. She looks like she rolled up the sleeve of her puffy sweater. And below it was this skinny little chicken leg. Justin said, “can you imagine how tiny she would be without hair?!” Yeah, Justin! Let’s just shave her and see! Except, I don’t want to die.

That Saturday, while Justin and I were sitting around being lazy, I said, “I still can’t believe that sassy broad got bit by a snake!”
“Seriously?? You can’t??”
“Justin, the only scenario that made sense was that she got into an air battle with a hawk, and broke her leg. So obviously between the two choices, snake bite is slightly more believable.”

I’m still waiting for her to come home, wearing a dead snake like a scarf. Hopefully she’s learned her lesson, but more likely, she’s out for revenge. Also, I think she might be venomous now, so if you see Nebula, keep your distance.

Bye Bye Bird

As a cat owner, 3 times over, I have taken part in my fair share of small animal rescues. And failed rescues. There have been plenty of dead animals dropped on my doorstep, or even sometimes brought inside. On a few occasions, I have been lucky enough to rescue these small creatures and set them free.

This is not one of those stories.

First of all, we should go back to the end of January. While Justin and I watched tv, I could hear squeaking outside. I got up to look, and there was Nebula, our 8lb mishmash kitten, with a baby mouse. “Oh my gosh, Justin! Nebula caught a mouse!” It was a baby mouse, and after she brought it inside, I chased her around until she dropped the poor baby. It was mostly dead, but anyone who is a fan of The Princess Bride knows that mostly dead is still alive. I brought that little baby out front and put it in my flowerbed. Not even 5 minutes later, I hear the squeaking again. Oh no, not again!

I wasn’t sure if I had just two times rescued the same mouse, or if this was a new mouse. When I brought the mouse out front, its sibling was still alive and still in the garden. Nebula was just raiding a nest. Cheap hunt, Nebula.

The next morning I went outside, and stumbled upon a massacre. Captain SparklePaws had obviously stumbled upon the baby mice, and decided they were most definitely left there for him to snack upon. All that was left were pieces–a tail, a head, a couple feet. Nebula walked outside, took one look, and then looked back at me as thought I had wronged her: “Is this some kind of joke?! I hunted and trapped these mices, and you let someone else eat them!” She didn’t speak to me all day.

I kept waiting for more babies to be brought to the door, but we spent 2 months without any gifts, dead or alive.

Until yesterday.

Justin was walking past the back door and stopped. “Oh my gosh Sammi, Nebula has a bird!” No she doesn’t. Not possible. While he’s trying to stop her from entering through the doggie door, I snuck a peak. Oh my gosh, what do you know!? I immediately ran outside and attempted to save this little bird. Of course, if you’ve ever tried to take a live bird out of a cat’s mouth, it doesn’t matter if she is 8lbs or 800lbs, you will lose an arm. While she grumbled and growled the equivalent of “don’t you frigging touch my bird,” I tried to convince her to put it down so I could save it. Which is when she got up and jumped through the doggie door. “JUSTIN!!!! Stop her!!!” He had given up watching and had moved on with his life, so I was on my own.

I chased Nebula in the house, and up the stairs. I made it to the top just in time to watch her slink into Shea’s room. “Someone get me a paper towel!!!” I once again took my chances with my life. And once again, Nebula threatened to trade her mouse for my entire arm. Once again, she was on the move. For the love of all creatures everywhere, let the bird go.

She ran under Shea’s bed, and there was no way I could reach her. Finally, the bird managed to escape the grips of Nebula’s jaw, and it hippity hopped out and directly at me. Success! The bird was now mine!

The problem now was, where do I let this poor thing go that it won’t end up in the mouth of Nebula again. I took it out front and showed Justin that I was successful. She had lost a few tail feathers, and a few wing feathers, so I wasn’t sure of her ability to fly.

Justin and I stood outside for a few minutes, with the bird safely hidden under Justin’s car. It was starting to look like we were out of the woods.

Until, of course, the neighbor’s cat wandered over. “Oh hey y’all. I heard mention of a bird? Thought I would check out the situation.”
Meow-Meow Kitty, as we call her, is extra super friendly. She often comes over and sits outside our front window, and cries–until Captain SparklePaws decides to go outside and head out on hunting adventures.

She rubbed up against Justin’s leg, hung out next to him for a couple minutes, and then slowly made her way over to his car. “Oh…is that a bird??”

The bird flew out from under his car, flew two sad, low laps around his vehicle, landed, and was immediately scooped up by Meow-Meow Kitty. Are you kidding me?! “Meow-Meow Kitty, no! I just saved that bird!!!” She didn’t give a toot, and slowly pranced home, bird in mouth. I know my neighbors well enough to say hi if I see them outside, but, at this moment, I had to make a decision–chase down her cat on her front lawn and wrestle a bird out of the cat’s mouth, or admit my failure yet again.

I’m beginning to think maybe I’m not so good at this whole rescue and release biz.