I wouldn’t dare include a full body shot of JD. He would be horrified to know that I ever portrayed him with any kind of weakness. JD likes to be a very dominant and in control kitty. I mean cat. He’s certainly not a snuggly little daddy’s boy. Yes, I said it. Daddy. He’s not my son, per se, but I am his dad. And JD can be hurt and, as you can see, he really got himself into a mess.
But that’s not really where this story begins. It begins with this post about children that I made a couple months ago about whether or not to have children. And it got everyone up in arms. Or at least a few that commented. And the conversation surrounding to be or not to be parents continues. But really, that’s not where the story begins either. It’s starts somewhere around the idea that cats are like children.
I think it’s safe to say that cats are like two year olds that are capable of going to the bathroom and clean by themselves. They are kind of cognizant of the world around them, yet they run in front of cars because I suspect that aren’t able to understand death—not as we do. As in, the emotional turmoil of JD becoming a road pancake.
So this story actually begins last week when we let the cats out at 9:30 (PM). Most cats, come summer time, would stay out all night. However, our cats are on an eating schedule and those fatties don’t miss a meal. So I know that by 10:00 they should be knocking for their bedtime snack.
10:00 JD comes in. No Elly. And if either of those cats are fatties, it’s Elly by a mile (or 6 pounds). No problem. I’ll wait.
10:30. No Elly. I call a couple times. Nothing.
11:00. No Elly. Now this is just getting crazy and I am worried. So I put on my shoes and walk around the house. I look for Elly-sized lumps on the road. Check the usual spots. Nothing.
11:30. No Elly. I remark to Leah that I am never going to have children if I get this upset over a cat. I put my shoes on and get my flashlight. I walk up and down the alley, calling for my cute little Elly-burger. My Elly-bear. I walk a block over and search the school ground. Leah checks our neighbours yards and the frontyards.
11:40. I get back from my expansive search of our neighbour. And Leah yells She’s back!
Now, I didn’t want to admint it in the timeline. Because timelines are for being tough. But I was scared. My heart was pumping. I was imagining the worst. I was actually pretty upset. And when I got back to the house I just wanted yell at her for making me so worried, but I was so happy to see her that I just hugged her and told her not to do that again. But she’s got the intelligence of a two year old and was hungry. So I fed her.
Which brings us to JD. If Elly is the fat one, JD is the smart one. But with JD there is no story. Or at least no story that I know. He came home on Saturday with a giant open wound in his back right leg/paw. I don’t know how bad you think it looks in that picture, but when I look up close I am pretty sure I can see bone. Or at least tendon. It’s gross. He was bleeding when he got back. So we cleaned him up. Which indcluded peroxide. He did not enjoy that. Then I rushed to the store and bought bandages and tensor-like wrap. I put Polysporin on the bandage, wrapped up his leg and secured it with electrical tape.
Monday morning I removed the bandage. The wound looked okay, but not great. So I took a couple hours off work (for my dumb cat), drove to JD to the vet (he peed in his crate on the way there, yum) and got the good doctor to take a look. As you can imagine JD was not too anxious to let anyone near that huge gash. The doc gave him a two-week shot of antibiotics and some pain-killers. So infection shouldn’t be a problem. Plus we have to wash it out every day. Oh and not to mention the $200 vet bill.
Frankly, the emotional and financial toll is too much for me. And I know that it would only multiply with children. Who needs this kind of aggravation? It can’t be good for the heart. JD seems to be on the mend. But he’s not allowed outside and I presume he’s only going to get crankier and/or start peeing all over the house.
For intents and purposes, these cats are my children and for now they are all I can handle.
Stories like this are why I never intend to let my cats be outdoor cats (when I finally live in a place where I’m allowed to have cats).
But just you wait until they show you those sad kitty eyes. Then we’ll see how tough you are.
All of the cats my family had when I was growing up were indoor cats, so it’s always seemed a bit strange to me that people let their cats go outside. It’s always been a bit foreign to me, just because my parents never did it.