You may recall my little black cat Toc, the Terry Malloy of house cats. You know Terry Malloy - Marlon Brando's character in On the Waterfront. The "I coulda been a contender" guy. The washed-up prizefighter who takes a beating from the mob dock bosses and is still standing (barely) at the end of the movie.
Well, one early morning last week (like about 2:00 am), there was a howling ruckus in my living room - probably Toc mixing it up with a stray that came in through the window, trying to get to the well-rounded food bowl.
Toc apparently took a hit on his face (I really didn't notice anything until yesterday), which ballooned into an absess on his tough little kitty brow and cheek. It looked quite nasty this morning, as though a huge lump of something had been transplanted under his skin - the whole of his little head was deformed, with a strange, oozing patch of fur. It was quite yucky. He glowered at me over his food bowl as if to rebuke me.
"I thought you would be a good manager when I came through your window," he seemed to be saying. "I thought you were in my corner. Now, one little cut in the ring and you don't even sew me up."
Horrified at Toc's appearance, I put him into a kitty carrier and rushed him off to Good Dr. Sharp & son, veterinarians.
The young vet took one look at my little fighting fellow and pronounced the diagnosis: cat bite.
"A cat bite on his head?" I asked. "That's got to be against the Queensberry rules!"
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marquess_of_Queensberry_rules
The vet peered at me as if I had taken a hit on the head myself -- apparently there are no Queensberry rules in a cat fight. Maybe I should try to write some. Rule #1 would be "no biting on the head". Although how I would enforce these rules is a mystery. Cats are not known for obedience to rules of any sort, even if the rules are for their own good.
"We'll have to keep him," the doc said, and bundled a weakened, growling Toc away into the mysterious Operating Room.
"Come back for him around noon. He should be awake by then."
I waited and waited, then gave a call around noon. Toc was just coming out of the anethesia, and I could come and get him.
How happy I was that all was well! I wasn't so happy about the $175 bill, but at least my little fighter would be at home soon! I went to the vet's office, paid the bill, and waited patiently for my little Toc to come out and come home. It seemed to be taking quite a long time.
A nurse came out and apologized. It seems Toc was putting up a fight, not wanting to get back into his carrier. That's my guy - scrappy to the end. I offered to go back and try to take care of it myself. He would respond to my voice, surely. I could hear Toc's voice, that was for sure. "Roooowwwww! Roooowwwww!" --there is only one cat who can yowl like that. The nurse reassured me that the young assistant would be able to handle Toc and get him up front soon enough.
When he finally re-apeared, Toc was in the carrier, all wrapped in an orange bath towel - apparently, the young assistant had to protect his arms from the wrath of Toc by holding him in the towel while placing him in the carrier. "You can keep the towel", the nurse offered generously. She thought she was being nice, but I knew the truth - they didn't want to open up that carrier door and go another round with Toc in a bout for the towel. I'm going to have to chant a lot before giving him his morning and evening dropperful of antibiotics.
I finally got the growling champ home and let him out of his carrier. I even prepared a nice special bed for him to lie down on - fresh linen for him to rest his weary head. Oh, and speaking of his head -it looks just jolly awful. The left half of his face and most of the top of his head is shaved clean, with draining wounds. He looks like a Cyborg. Like Terry Malloy as the Terminator in a little black cat body. Wow. This new look is going to totally enhance Toc's image with the tough neighborhood strays.
Despite my hard work in preparing a sickbed for him, though, the big guy decided he didn't want to lie down. He strolled out of his carrier, crunched down a few well-rounded bites of dry food and headed outside. He's on patrol around the building as we speak. Don't mess with Toc. He's a street fightin' cat.
Dear Byrd & Toc --
Consider this a get-well card from JoJo, my control-freak calico.----------Last week, she discovered my computer----mouse, and insists on lying on the desk with her head on it-----and a shoulder on the - key on the keyboard----------corner. I suppose it's the only mouse she'll ever catch in this lifetime-----------.
Years ago, I had a cat --------named Mehitabel. (per e.e. cummings) Might she be a reincarnation?
Barbara
What a timely post. I am just back from frantically searching for Raleigh after I let him out while I was eating breakfast and he promptly disappeared. I called and called for him, but he didn't answer, and I was afraid he'd been snatched by a coyote.
When he finally answered my call, I could barely hear him, and it took me a few minutes to realize he was in the neighbor's yard. Again. Said neighbor let me go through the back gate and retrieve Raleigh. At least he hadn't taken a dive into their pool like last time.
Sarge is still wondering if I've learned my lesson about letting Raleigh out without watching him.
Yesterday, I took Raleigh into the vet for his monthly shot for the autoimmune disease he has in his mouth. He didn't want to get out of his carrier and the vet and I had to pull him out by the scruff of his neck. Once we got him out, he ran back into it headfirst, and the vet was lucky to get the needle into his backside.
Vet has us trying something new this month. Instead of 10 days of antibiotics, he'll get 5 days, then we are to wait 3 weeks, and give him another 5 days.
He's expensive, but I love this little guy.
Posted by: Michele at November 7, 2007 08:55 AMHi, Barbara, and thanks for the good wishes. Toc isn't much of a one for get-well cards, though. His motto is, "say it with tuna".
Mehitabel the cat was (I believe) the brainchild of Don Marquis at the Chicago Sun. Archy the cockroach wrote all in lower case, like ee cummings, but not as an artistic statement - Archy couldn't reach the shift key on Marquis' typewriter,so everything came out lower case.
I love those Archy poems. Mehitabel was a reincarnation of Cleopatra, if you will recall - that means that Jojo herself may be a second-round reincarnation of the great Egyptian Queen - does she show any other signs of this? Like, maybe a taste for Middle Eastern music, or for pyramid-shapes?
Best, Byrd inL LA
Posted by: Byrd in LA at November 7, 2007 11:37 AM