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elfsAfter Kouryou-chan was born, we did the very middle class thing and found a larger home in a reasonable school district. This was good for Kouryou-chan: the house was finally big enough to encourage her to try and walk-- the apartment was so small she didn't need to crawl anywhere to see everything. Dinah, however, was now well into her middle age and settled and the change was a bit much for her.
The second day we moved into the new house, Dinah ran out the back door and disappeared into the wooded area behind the property. Omaha and I had no idea what had happened to her, and we were worried. We called to her all the time, left out her food by the back door, and waited.
She showed up a day and a half later. She seemed to be okay, very meowy but otherwise unharmed. We cuddled her and fed her and were very grateful to have her back.
Two days later, I was petting Dinah when my hand came back wet. The wetness was clear but smelled unpleasant, so I laid Dinah down on the couch and checked her over. There was a nasty, suppurating wound on her neck. "Omaha," I said, "There's a hole in our cat!"
We had an adventure finding a 24-hour emergency veterinarian. The one we found, Emerald, was way up in Seattle proper, a 45-minute drive. We made it, and left Dinah in their care. The next day, five hundred dollars later, Dinah was returned to us, half her neck and shoulder shaved and a huge, Frankensteinian stitch holding closed a three-inch long wound.
The fur took a long time to grow back, and I used to joke that she had a zipper for her pop-top head. Dinah was much more cautious about going outside after that; the greenbelt behind my house was actual forest, and populated with a few racoons.
The second day we moved into the new house, Dinah ran out the back door and disappeared into the wooded area behind the property. Omaha and I had no idea what had happened to her, and we were worried. We called to her all the time, left out her food by the back door, and waited.
She showed up a day and a half later. She seemed to be okay, very meowy but otherwise unharmed. We cuddled her and fed her and were very grateful to have her back.
Two days later, I was petting Dinah when my hand came back wet. The wetness was clear but smelled unpleasant, so I laid Dinah down on the couch and checked her over. There was a nasty, suppurating wound on her neck. "Omaha," I said, "There's a hole in our cat!"
We had an adventure finding a 24-hour emergency veterinarian. The one we found, Emerald, was way up in Seattle proper, a 45-minute drive. We made it, and left Dinah in their care. The next day, five hundred dollars later, Dinah was returned to us, half her neck and shoulder shaved and a huge, Frankensteinian stitch holding closed a three-inch long wound.
The fur took a long time to grow back, and I used to joke that she had a zipper for her pop-top head. Dinah was much more cautious about going outside after that; the greenbelt behind my house was actual forest, and populated with a few racoons.
