Creature great and small

It’s been a traumatic 24 hours for poor little Small Cat. There she was, happily asleep and occasionally waking to run madly up and down the living room and take a passing bite at Father or me when she was ruthlessly bundled into her carrying case and whisked off to the vet’s office. There, she was jabbed in the behind with a sharp object, put to sleep (literally, not the euphemism it usually is) and then cut open, some of her insides taken out and then sewn up again, bandaged tightly and sent home with us. Many of the people I know who know that this would happen spat angrily at me for depriving Small Cat of worldly pleasure and motherhood, while a few sagely remarked that it was the only way to go. For us, it was not a matter of choice. Small Cat was said (by the vet) to have a hormonal imbalance problem and would have become seriously ill with feline cancer if we had not taken these rather drastic steps to stop the process from ever starting. And, sooner rather than later was the route we chose, giving Small Cat and us the best option for her to lead a healthy, happy and fun-filled life.

So now the poor baby is recovering. Right after the operation yesterday late afternoon, we brought her back to the house and put her on the carpet to slowly wake up. But with the dogged (ha ha) determination so typical of Small Cat, she started wandering through the apartment long before her front legs, back legs, middle and head caught up with her sharp little brain. In a way it was funny, with her staggering blearily around looking for something only she knew she wanted, with us, Father and I, half a step behind her, watching protectively for obstacles that she may collide with, hurt herself, burst open her stitches, or goodness knows what else that could cause more trouble than it was worth the effort to do. She refused to stay put anywhere, wandering from the living room carpet to under Father’s bed to the corridor to my room. It was as if she was programmed to follow through with her usual routine of exploring the house, rushing from one space to the other and then, finally, falling asleep in one of her many favourite snuggle places.

And so to bed we all went, knowing full well that Small Cat would do whatever Small Cat wanted to do, and if she wanted us, she would make it clear and we would jump to her bidding. That time came soon enough. Just after 1 am, there was a feeble scratching on the bed near my head and Small Cat’s big ears and bigger eyes peeked at me through the darkness. She spent the rest of the night curled up against various parts of me, mercifully fast asleep and seemingly not feeling too much pain or discomfort. That began this morning. She has been walking – or tottering around the house on her own missions, insisting on going about her business without letting us do more than trail behind her making suggestions for her comfort, pleading with her to lie down and rest, every so often crying or whimpering in obvious distress. When it gets too much for her, she snuggles against my pillows and takes a nap, albeit a short one, but as soon as either Father or I leave her alone in the room, she wakes and wants to be where everyone, anyone else is. Her bandages are slowly rucking together and even as she gets more confident navigating her oft-travelled paths, we worry that a stitch may give, a tampered-with muscle may tear or something that should be firmly in place shift out of it and cause the little creature more pain.

So as we wait for the vet to arrive and check on Small Cat, we, Father and I, worry about the decision we took and the way our pet suffers as she recovers. We know we did the right thing. And with all her courage, her spirit and her obstreperousness, we are sure that Small Cat will soon be back to her madcat fits, her guerrilla attacks on us and her endearing hide-and-seek games.