Pussy Cat (Rhymes with Fussy Cat)

My cat Grendel is an awesome little guy. I met him one day in the spring on a sunny morning. I saw this little kitten from half a block away - just a little pointy-eared smudge at that distance, but the outline was clearly a little cat. I thought he was another kitten that had come by the apartment the day before - I'd tracked him to a vacant garage down the block, right by where this little guy was right now.

As I looked at the little kitty-shape down the street, it cocked its head to the side and was clearly looking at me. Then, it took off straight towards me. this little cat ran full tilt - a little awkwardly, as it was still very young, but still, it ran all the way up to my feet, and sort of collapse/rolled onto them. This little creature just sort of squirmed around on its back against the tops of my feet; it took a moment to get over my surprise and bend down and start petting it. An immediate, loud purr erupted from the writhing furball at my feet.

It took a moment for me to ascertain that the kitty was a little boy; and that he was also not the cat I had met the day before - it had been friendly, but not this friendly! The tiny black and white kitten came right inside, and got along with the other cats well after a short period of aloof suspicion. However, this loving, warm, fuzzy little pet, that fit in so well with my other cats, had a secret kitty dark side. Maybe he watched "Fight Club" over my shoulder at too young an age: maybe he has "little cats" syndrome; maybe its just some sort of balance, evening out what a super great pet he is. But whatever the reason or excuse, this cat liked to fight. He really liked to fight.

Little Grendel had heart, he had drive, persistence, stamina. He had many of the qualities that make a champion Alley Cat, or King Tomcat. However, my little Grendel was little; heck, he is almost <em>tiny</em>! So, a few months after he moves in, he starts coming home with wounds. Bite wounds, scratch wounds, gravel skins and broken claws caught under the skin. I had to get a stack of books on cat vet medicine; Grendel was shaved and butterfly-bandaged to close up wounds. He received long, grueling sessions soaking his forelegs in hot salt water, cleaning out abscesses. He managed to get a series of scars and stripes of grey-white fur before he was one year old.

Although I prefer not to fix my pets right away, or as a matter of course, we were pretty sure that we had to fix Grendel, if we wanted him to survive to be a full grown cat. So, when he was almost one, we made an appointment to have him fixed. As the day came up, our little Grendel managed to get his forelegs all cut up again, all puffy and infected. While the wounds were not serious, they were enough to have the vet reschedule his surgery.

So, we went out and bought a cat collar, and started locking the cats up. We tried to keep them inside until the surgery appointment. Four days before the surgery, after almost three weeks of cats-locked-indoors, Grendel escapes for an afternoon! After a quick inspection, he looks alright, and we breath a sigh of relief. The kitties do their last few days in jail, and the surgery day comes around.

That morning as I am petting Grendel, I feel something a little crusty on his forearm. I begin to palpate the limb, slowly and gently. I cover the whole front arm, and find nothing. Again, a wash of relief; there's nothing wrong with my cat! Cool! Just to be careful, I check over the other front limb, in case maybe the crusty was a transfer from it. As I slowly palpate the other foreleg, gently pressing my way over the little furry limb, Beth asks if we are going to be ready to go on time.

I look up at her and begin to answer yes, when I feel a slight hard spot under my touch, that suddenly gives way, becoming a soft depression. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a long, yellow-cream colored stream spurt from my little kitties front leg. Looking down, I have to surpress a gag, as I spot the tablespoon-size spatter of pus on my knee, dripping down to a similar size portion on my shoe. The gloppy, sticky mass has a slightly sweet, sick scent that makes my stomach do flips. I tell Beth to call and reschedule the vet.

We jumped into action, running through the now-familiar "abcess routine". Irrigation with warm saline, cleanse with hydrogen peroxide; apply hot, wet compress 2x daily, followed by bacitracin for 5 minutes, then wipe away the excess. Clean poor kitties wound up; by this point in our relationship, Grendel knows I am helping him; that even if I hurt his wound, It will feel better faster than if I didnt. He is a stoic little guy, and keeps his foreleg stretched out to me, allowing me to poke and prod him with good grace.

We spend another two weeks walking the cats on leashes - we now have two, one for Grendel, one for Algernon - they are too different in size, and it was a pain adjusting their collar again and again. The cats are not happy about no going outside, but the guys are getting used to going for walks, and are asking to go out on their leashes. But of course, they are also making constant escape attempts. And of course, as the appointment approaches, their attempts become more desperate, and more clever.

Two days before the appointment, both boy cats make a break for the door as we arrive home with groceries. By a stroke of luck or judgement of Karma, Grendel manages to thread his way through my legs, our apartment door, the security door, and the outside door (and Beths' feet). He shoots ofr into the night, not to be heard from again til the next morning.

When, of course, he shows up back at home with a massive cut running down the center of his skull.

Here is a link to a picture of Grendel all pooped out after getting his head wound cleaned out. http://baphomet68.blog.com/files/2011/12/grendel-headwound.jpg

At this point, I had started calling Grendel "Pussy Cat" (rhymes with "Fussy Cat") because of how much nasty goo tended to ooze out of him, and I am praying we can stand keeping him inside until we can get him fixed. Its starting to feel like one of those impossible chicke-and-egg things, where I need him to stop fighting so I can get him fixed so he will stop fighting!

Ahh, my poor little bruiser! His head wound lays him out for days, and he is slowed down for the week. We give him lots of walks the second week, and finally, we get the "Pussy cat" in to the vets office, wound-and-infection free, and get him fixed.

The surgery had a large effect on Grendels' behavior. He continued to be very affectionate; he kept being friendly to cats that were clearly attached to people we associate with, or our cats. But now, he only hisses at strange cats, or swats them a few times. He is no longer in the fight till the end, no matter what. He gets in occasional fights, but with far less serious wounds. He still had a fierce, strong hatred for dogs, but that story will have to wait. Grendel is at my side right now, demanding attention; I am inclined to give it to him, as I find him to be such a warm and cuddlesome fellow.

Cat Stories

I have three cats living with me - Zora the Geek, Grendel and Algernon. Algernon is Zora the Geek's son, and they hate each other as only relatives can. In this case, the mother and child keep a constant watch for ways to make the other miserable. In this, nearing the end of our second year in our house, Zora the Geek has moved out of the second floor, and now roams the house (as of the middle of the summer). Algernon, the only cat to resist warming up to the dog, seems to have takem her place: now he doesnt want to come more than halfway down the stairs. He will ambush you when you go upstairs to use the bathroom, and try to jump in your lap while you sit on the toilet.

I lost my beloved cat The Skulking Skumbo just over three years ago; he left a strong impact on my life, and a strong imprint on the three still here with us. He lived about fifteen years, and spent more than half of his life in one ground floor apartment with constant outdoor access. In this building, our upstairs neighbor also loved cats, and would often host strays - sometimes lots of them. The Skulking Skumbo liked people, liked cats, and liked fighting cats, dogs, raccoons, squirrels, and probably other critters as well.

The cats that came through that apartment building - we were there almost twelve years, we saw lots of strays, as well as a parade of tenants cats come through. The upstairs lady had a cat named Cat that was a Maine Coon Cat; it was super cool, and a deadly fighter. There were more in the winter, it seemed - one would get fed, and tell his pals, and soon there would be four of them camping in the basement, and one year I found an insulated box in the back yard set up like a cat sized igloo.

I had one other cat as an adult, Ziggy the Coon Cat. I had him for three years in Maine; I lost him and I never found out what happened to him. I always hoped he found some great home that kept him inside.

So, I have had a lot of cats - or, perhaps I should say I have spent a lot of time with a few cats. However I say it, I have a lot of cat experiences I would like to share; the above paragraphs outline the cast of characters.

Intro

This is the pets blog for baphomet68/jeff zeiler. My blogs seemed cluttered, so I have split things up. While this blog is named Woden Tales, it will contain content about all of the animals and pets that live with us. Please feel free to request any particular stories etc.