We had a plan last night that didn’t come together due to unforeseen circumstances. As these circumstances unfolded, they became really funny, even if in a macabre sort of way. The Kiddo is out of school today for some kind of weird reason, so his Granddad picked him up from school yesterday so they could hang out today. They both enjoy that, and it’s certainly convenient for us. We had a parent-teacher conference scheduled for yesterday at six, and I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to meet his teacher. After that, the local liquor store was hosting a wine tasting, although the owner’s first language is not English, and he writes it ‘wine testing’. He’s a great person, and I really like his family, but every now and then, there’s some little piece of Engrish that pops up to belie his near lack of accent. Yesterday, going over the plans for the evening, I mentioned to Jenni that after meeting with the teacher, and getting some wine in our systems, we’d be home alone! So, I proposed we grill some steaks and then have some ‘grown-up’ time (at the risk of giving TMI). She loved the idea, so we committed our intentions.
On the way home from work, we stopped at Braum’s to pick up milk, butter (the real stuff, not that ‘I can’t believe’ crap), some heavy whipping cream, and a couple of steaks. We went on home to put away our perishables, and had just enough time to let the dog out, relax for a moment, and high-tail it to the school for our meeting. I almost got too relaxed and forgot about the parent-teacher conference, but we did make it mostly in time. I like Kiddo’s teacher this year. She’s down to earth, intelligent, and cute! I’m betting that’s why he likes her as well! After chatting with her for about twenty or thirty minutes, we went on to our wine ‘testing.’ We tried about eight different wines from Kalifornia’s Central Coast. I think the Central Coast is why God has not yet allowed that state to fall into the Pacific! After wine, we returned home and grilled our steaks.
Somewhere in there, between the conference with the teacher and grilling steaks, the cats got a little carried away in one of their friendly scuffles. Let me preface the rest of this post: Our cats LOVE each other.
We had a little unfounded concern about how Emerson would react to Ferrule when Jenni brought him home. We didn’t know whether he would be aggressive to the newcomer. But, it was clear to Emerson that Ferrule needed a mommy, and so his maternal instincts took over. I know how that sounds, but there’s really no better way to put it. He would bathe Ferrule, and protect him, and it wasn’t at all paternal, it was maternal – pure and simple.
They snuggle when they sleep, and put on sickeningly sweet shows in our home. But, sometimes they fight. It’s never seemed ill-motivated, but just some sort of elevated play. Usually, Ferrule is the instigator, and Emerson puts him in his place. They’re not always so nice, though.
At some point in the evening, Ferrule’s claw punctured Emerson’s tail. His claws get caught on stuff when they aren’t trimmed. Apparently, prior to the claw extraction, there was enough pull to put a ~2-inch laceration in Emerson’s tail. Through the fur, it looked much smaller:
At first, we saw a little blood on the floor, in droplets here and there. Upon closer inspection, we located the injury and found that he had left quite the blood trail through the house. Of course, Jenni called the pet med emergency number. They advised that we clean the wound with hydrogen peroxide and water, and then leave it open. We were then to keep an eye on it to monitor any changes. After a little while, it was still dripping, so I called the emergency line again. The woman who answered the phone advised that we bring the cat in so they could suture the wound. Jenni wrapped Emerson in a towel so he could go to his nemesis: the car. He yowled the entire way to the clinic, and continued his protests when we entered. He certainly knows how to make an entrance! After some waiting, we were shown to an examination room, and a nurse took his vitals. After more waiting, the doctor came in, and said that he needed stitches. So, they gassed the cat, shaved his tail, and put twelve stitches in his poor tail!
That, my friends, is $285-worth of medical care! Ouch! I wish I could get that kind of money for every twelve stitches I put in a holster. Besides that, my stitching is much prettier! Jenni says that I don’t have to shave and drug my holsters, and I said that the vet didn’t have to wet-mold and finish the cat. With Emerson drugged and floppy, we went back home. We have to have the stitches taken out in ten to fourteen days. We put him to bed in the closed bathroom, so Ferrule wouldn’t mess with him all drugged up. Oddly enough, Ferrule seems to feel almost guilty in the whole situation. I suppose if any breed of cat is even capable of such a thing, it would probably be a Siamese variation. Then again, they also seem to be the breed that is most likely to hold a grudge…
Watch your step, Ferrule.