Cat drama

[andygates]

So, last night while being fed, the cat - Beltane Gredunza Scroggins, these days - came up with a Lump.  It was a good 'un, looked like she had hamster envy, and so today, off to the vet she went.  Overnight she'd fussed the lump to scabbiness and it was tight and shiny.  "Ooh!" said the vet, who like my dentist and doctor is a Scandinavian called Inge, "That's about ready to burst, yes?"

A swift probe with a hypodermic revealed the gunge within, so it was time for a scalpel and a squeeze.  Dear gods, the shot-glassful of stuff that came out when Inge Todd flashed her blade smelled rank.  And the cat was suspiciously quiet and still, which either means I've learned the right level of implacable-but-not-mean restrain at last (ha!) or she was taking notes and will murder me in my sleep tonight.

Which is a pity, because then she won't get her antibiotics.  I've to keep the wound open and drained for a couple of days and she's on antibiotics until Christmas.  All is well.  She's doing her I've-been-to-the-vet diva act now, grooming the blood into her white fur to make it look even worse and get sympathy.

Here's Bel's "I'm sucking a golf ball" huge boil face and her face the right shape again with bloody fur.  That's a relief.  I was worried it was going to be dental.