Wednesday, 5 October 2016

Misty's diary: an injury? Not something to get me down

It’s so tedious. Interloper cats really get on my nerves. I mean, sure, yes, I sometimes stray outside my own territory. But when I meet another cat, I just greet them politely, make my excuses, and get the hell out.

So here’s my question: why does that ghastly black and white cat from two doors down behave as though he owns our garden? My garden? More to the point, when he invades it and I courteously tell him he’s in my territory, why doesn’t he just get out like I would, instead going for me with tooth and claw?

He reckons he’s better than me because he’s from around here, and I’m an outsider who’s moved in. So what? Place doesn’t belong to him, does it? And I’ve been here four years. Practically half my life. I reckon that gives me the same rights as any local. Though sadly that’s not how he sees it.

The ghastly animal got me in the face the other day. Took me completely by surprise. When I was younger I’d have given him as good as I got but, these days, I’m not the aggressive scrapper I used to be. Put on a bit of weight, perhaps. Nothing excessive, of course, but you know how it is, I’m not quite as quick as I might have been once.

Still, I’m quick enough to leg it back into the house pretty fast. Had to nurse the injury. It certainly needed nursing: blew right up, nasty red and black coloured thing, that hurt like hell. The domestics were full of sympathy but, hey, what’s the use of sympathy? I needed help.

Luci tried, of course. But, you know – a toy poodle? About as skilful as a poodle toy.

I had to sort it myself. Got my claws into the nasty mess on my face, and that hurt badly too. But it did some good. Some vile liquid came out and the whole thing shrank to a sensible size which hurt a lot less.

Next day, once they’d had a decent night’s sleep themselves, the domestics actually got around to helping me.

“It looks less bad,” said number 1, “it’s like he’s managed to lance it himself.”

I’ll say. You weren’t going to do it, were you? Had to do it myself.

“Still, we’d better get him to the vet,” she went on.

There was a time when those words would have filled me with horror. But, you know, I reckon now that, though you get poked and pricked, at least you leave the vet’s feeling better than when you went in.

Not that I like going there. It means getting into that ghastly sort of brown cage thing they put you in. It’s made of cloth but believe me, it’s as much a cage as if it were all iron bars. Got Luci all upset too – she went bounding around and sniffing and saying useless things.

“Don’t stay in there, Misty, come out and play. Come on. It can’t be nice in there. Just come out.”

Lots of words. But no unzipping of the bit which would let me out. She’s as useful as a wet rag, like I said before.

How about not telling me to come out
and actually helping me out, you useless dog?
Anyway, I put up with it. We were off to the vet and I suspected it would do me good. So I did my best to be nice. I mean, when he jabbed me with a needle – and he did it twice – I didn’t give him a HOWL, more of a half-power protest. Quarter-power. Sort of Mrrrrr. Just to mark the fact that I knew they’d stuck me with steel and they shouldn’t start to think that just because I’d put up with it, I was going to go on putting up with it in the future. 

Even though I’d put up with it twice.

He’s good that vet. Did the trick. When I got home I was feeling a lot better. Comfortable, basically. 

OK, so can I get out now, please?
Domestic number 2 opened the door to the nasty cage thing – thank God he’s worked out how to use a zip – and I emerged. In a dignified way, though I did nuzzle his hand and let him stroke me. I mean, I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t appreciative.

And of course little Luci came dancing round.

“You’re out of that nasty carrier thing!”

“Cage,” I corrected her.

“Who cares? You’re out of it.”

She was dancing around so much she didn’t notice she’d left her blanket empty, so I curled up on it. I left her a little bit on the edge and she joined me. Which was fine. It was quite nice having her silly wet nose pushing against my back. Companionable.

I was feeling good about things again. There’s nothing like getting rid of pain. Why, I could even think of the nasty black and white cat from two doors down and, you know, I didn’t even feel bitter about him. Revenge? What good would it do even I managed to exact it?

Though if he gets too close to my claws with his back turned, I might just revise that opinion.

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