Oh, she’s a funny one, this girl.
She’s shy and quiet and timid and apprehensive and skittish and jumpy and aloof and bored…until…
someone sits down at the computer.
Then she will force her way between whomever it is and the keyboard and just stand there…in the way. You can’t really see the screen with a cat in your face and you certainly can’t type with a furry body standing between your arms and you absolutely can’t concentrate with a kitty head nudging into your chin every 10 seconds or so.
The funny part is that she is thrilled with the whole set up. In fact, I’m quite sure that she wonders what my problem is. I can almost hear her saying in her breathy, girlie feline voice, “Oh, don’t mind me. Just keep doing whatever it was that you were doing. I’m completely comfortable.”
And why shouldn’t she be?
She runs the place.
As you can see, this old guy is doing great–better than he’s been in years. Why, he’s running up and down the stairs, following me everywhere I go, eating like a horse, catching mice in the garden, and swatting at his little sister Jiffy–just to teach her who is still the big man around here, in case she forgot. He’s even put back on some good solid weight to substantiate the claim. Legoless, we’re calling him, which is a hearty, tough guy name…with a double meaning.
Yeah, he’s even taken to bossing me around these days. “Let me out. Let me in. Let me out and then right back in. Feed me the chicken food. Feed me the turkey this time. Now let me out again–and of course, right back in. Oh, he’s pushing his luck pulling this stuff all day long, but he nearly needs a swat when he tries it at 4 in the morning. Oh, and he’s developed a funny meow to go along with his new “I run the joint” attitude. It’s a howl of sorts. And I’d be happy to ignore it, except that it’s quite impossible at the crack of dawn. This guy’s a nut job I tell you…a twenty year old nut job.
Good thing I positively love the living daylights out of this old, silly cat.
And apparently he isn’t missing the back leg, one little bit.
For those of you who have wondered~ my cute little Beany Boy got his stitches out this week. Of course, I didn’t stay in the room when they did it…not brave enough for that stuff. No siree. The tough old Bald Kid said, “Run along momma. I’ve got this,” and so I did. Hid out in the lobby pacing around just out of ear shot…just in case. Beany has been eating better food and has gotten much stronger in the past few weeks, so, it took someone manly like the Bald Kid to hold him tight for the stitches adventure–and so he didn’t eat the face off the vet. That would have been unfortunate.
But he’s happy to be back home and to be finished with the creepy medicine that we were suppose to give him twice a day. Best of all, now the old war-horse can finally go outside again–which makes us all very happy indeed. Just in the backyard for now, though until his hair grows back because he still looks a bit alarming…like a plucked chicken.
So, we’ll keep him close, till he can go out front with his kitty head held high and his dignity firmly in place.
You know, till he gets back on his feet…
all three of them.
I’ve posted many times in the last few years about Mr. Beany and his adventures, and more particularly in the last few months–with his injured leg. The vet told us that there wasn’t much that he could do other than give him antibiotics if it flared up occasionally. Then one day, he just happened to be laying a certain way and I got a real good look at the inside of his leg. The condition of his back right paw had definitely taken a turn for the worse.
I took him to the vet again. After examining him, he came out to me and said, “You know…Beany is very, very old…” I knew what he was about to say but I couldn’t let him. I held up one finger and managed to say, “Just don’t.”
Then I started to cry.
The decision was made to relieve Beany of the burden of that terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad…
When the doctor told me that Beany might not even make it through the surgery–I said, “Then that will be the Lord’s decision, not mine. At least he’ll go knowing that I was trying to help. He deserves that.”
So, I held him on my lap and talked to him for awhile. He seemed to get that I was sad and worried but that I love this old silly cat so darn much. I handed him over to the nurse and slowly walked to my car. I kept thinking how strange it would be to not have Beany anymore…if something were to happen to him. I sat in the car and bawled for awhile, then drove home.
The next evening at about 5:30 pm I finally spoke to the doctor. He said, “That is one tough cat.” Good, good news. My cute little tough-guy cat was apparently much sicker than we had thought. In fact, he had a fever going into surgery, but the second that angry leg was gone his temperature dropped down to normal.
Long story, short– this cat is a champ and he did beautifully…
and we got to bring him home the next day–Saturday night. Look how swollen his paw was from the IV.
Now some of these pictures are graphic so if you have a tender stomach, you might want to stop here. If you’re very brave…you’re welcome to continue on.
We’ve had to give him several kinds of nasty medicine and a pill a couple times a day. Not too fun, but he’s a terrific sport.
This is Beany boy sitting up like nothing ever happened…
the day after surgery. Sorry, I know it’s pretty graphic, but I’m just amazed at him just carrying on like it’s any other day, except that he’s missing a leg.
This nutty guy has already jumped up on my bed and back down a couple times. He follows me around and lays on the floor by me wherever I am–like he’s just glad to be here…with us.
Oh, me too Bean.
Thanks for sticking around.
I’m not really ready for the world without you.
So, do you remember me telling you weeks ago that we thought Beany had a dislocated hip and there was really nothing we could do?
Well the other day, I was looking at his foot because all of a sudden he started walking really weird, not just with a slight limp, but like he couldn’t bend his foot–at all.
On closer inspection, and to my horror, the top of his foot was swollen up like a golf ball. We got him in to our vet, Dr. Degering as quickly as we could. In fact, I couldn’t even find the cat carrier to take him in so I just held the poor guy on my lap. I thought at first that he would go nuts, but he just sat there and let me hold him. I think sometimes animals just know when we really are trying to help them.
Anyway, Dr. Degering examined him thoroughly and said his hip was fine. At first he thought that Beany must certainly have cancer of the bone, but after an x-ray he found that his leg had actually been broken clear back when I thought he had hurt his hip. Yeah…I feel like such a schmuck. My poor kitty. The doctor thinks that he has a bone infection (Jenny–HELP!!) and that he’ll need to be on anti-biotics for about 10 days. After that he wants to see him again and figure out what to do next. He said part of the bone is deteriorated and a new piece is growing back. Sad…sad.
Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson. I solemnly swear that I will never try to diagnose a very brave, very dear cat’s injuries–ever again. Ever. As long as I live.
And now we wait, while I try to figure out how to give a syringe full of medicine to a street savvy cat…
and hope he forgives me someday.