The Perm-a-Whistle Kitty, part II

In my last post, I explained how my Lollygagger’s kitty was beaten up by my elephantine cat named Murray.

It’s sad and unfortunate, but the poor kitten was attacked again. No, Murray has become her friend in the past few weeks since he attacked her. He seems remorseful, if a cat could ever be so. No, this time it was my dog. Maura is an Akita, who is small for her breed at roughly 80 lbs.

The Lollygagger’s daddy enjoys spoiling everyone in the family, including the pets. He’s not really as knowledgeable of animals as he should be, but he spent roughly half his life traveling the world while in the Army. He never had time for pets or a place to put them, so his experience with pets is limited. As such, the concept of tossing bits of chicken to a cat in front of a dog is lacking in the area of common sense.

I know you can see what’s coming. It’s sad, but true. The poor Little Princess was attacked. That tiny bit of chicken was claimed by the bigger one of the two, who won the race to snatch it up at all cost.

At all cost…

The cost was steep. The Little Princess paid handsomely for even thinking she could come close enough to have a sniff. The attack was loud, frightening, and bloody. I had never heard the Little Princess utter a sound until that moment. She was screaming for her life. I still tear up when I think about it. It was awful.

The Little Princess dashed to my room up stairs and hid under my king size bed, refusing to allow me to examine her injuries. I couldn’t reach her and she was not willing to be coxed out. The bed is so heavy, it took a few movers to get it there in the first place. Moving it was not on option. Hours passed, she still lived. The night turned to morning, she still lived.

Late in the afternoon the next day, she came out for the food and water I cleverly placed in a cat cage. I managed to lock her in and made my way down the mountain to the emergency vet clinic.
This clinic must have a standing fee for everyone with a cat. Another $255.00 later, and my free cat is pumped with pain killer, antibiotics, and a single staple in her nose. Really it’s more like the tear duct of the eye, but, stapled just the same.

Now, she has a permanent whistle in her nose. The wound still weeps all these months later. She still won’t purr, although she will meow now and then. She refuses to bathe anything more than her face and paws, which leaves her back knotted and nasty. She will not allow anyone to touch her but me, and will only allow me to brush her so long as I only brush her head.

Here are the lessons learned:

1) Never believe your gentle giant of a dog won’t put up a fight for a tasty bit of chicken.
2) Never have the impression your free pet will remain that way.
3) Never believe you understand an animal enough to touch it while it’s suffering.
4) Never give up, your pet will learn to trust again. Even if it’s only able to trust you.

The Perm-a-Whistle Kitty, part I

Earlier, I posted about my little Lollygagger stepping in wet cat barf and shouting “What the Hell!?” The barf came from our perm-a-whistle kitty who was perfectly whole when she came to us.

She was roughly 4 months old when she was ripped from her fancy bird cage, -yes, I said bird cage -and put into my arms, for free. She seemed to be somewhat antisocial at the time. I talked myself into believing she was just nervous and would spring to life when presented with cat toys and Fancy Feast.

Days passed, and our sweet little kitten had still not meowed, nor purred. Though concerned, I couldn’t find anything physically wrong with her. Maybe she needed more time.

One morning, and mean EARLY in the morning, I heard what I thought was the kitten (we shall from this point forward call her by her given name, The Little Princess) playing with our large-marge of a Cat, Murray. Murray is the King of the Castle, the Ruler of the Roost, the Kamehameha of his tiny Island. He is a Princess and is not happy with the new kids name. They weren’t playing. Murray was beating the tar out of the poor baby, who went into a state of shock.

The Little Princess had a severe spike in her body temperature, lost her bowels and bladder, and seemed to have lost the ability to blink. I thought he killed her. She was sure to die in the next few minutes. What was I to do? The only emergency pet clinic was 30 minutes from the bottom of the mountain I live on. Getting to the bottom would take another 30 minutes. I tried to pick her up so I could wrap her in a towel and get her in a cat cage for transport.

She must have had more strength in her than I though she did; My hands, arms, chest and thighs were shredded into a bloody mass of faux hamburger. The pain! I have had cats my entire life and know how to handle them, but she defied all logic. I’m still just as scarred from that night as she is.

I managed to get her downstairs to the kitchen where she could sit on the cool tile of the kitchen floor, and I slept on a nearby couch with one eye open for the remainder of the morning until the alarm clock insisted I get up.

By this time, The Little Princess allowed me to get her gingerly into a cage and we made the trek to the nearest vet. My free kitten cost me $255.00

In my next post, I’ll explain how she became the Perm-a-Whistle Kitty.