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And then the vet laughed at his ear hair

earhair

Jack got beat up again this weekend. He came in with blood on his legs, but the wounds were small, he wasn’t limping and he didn’t seem distressed. I didn’t think much of it. Boy stuff.

An hour later, he gets up from his nap and drags his broken body across the floor like he’d been run over by a Buick. Which is now what I thought had happened. Internal bleeding, whispers the displaced maternal instinct.

We took him to the vet, who decided it was cat bites (and no internal bleeding), gave him a shot for antibiotic and a shot for pain and then, to add insult to injury, laughed at his ear hair.

To be fair, he is the Ed Asner of ear hair.

There ensued a discussion where I swore I was going to scoop up the neighborhood’s intact tom, Ginge — who has now cost me a lot of money — and get him deballed. The vet thought the owner might object to that, and there followed a discussion of the ownership of cats.

In Rhode Island, I know, you cannot own cats in law. They own themselves. You can own dogs, but not felis. Which suits their sense of self, but means you can kill a cat without legal drama (I have to assume this doesn’t apply to pedigree cats and animal cruelty is still an offense). I used to follow the blog of a cat rescuer who routinely snuck up on unspayed cats and spayed them without telling the owner. Not on the spot, of course.

Anyway, Jack has been an absolute bastard ever since. He won’t go outside, bounces off the walls and beats up Charlotte to make himself feel better. I’m’a buy him a tiny wifebeater for Christmas.

November 28, 2017 — 10:18 pm
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