Veterinarian

Duncan is an old cat.  He is seventeen years old and has lived outside all of his life.  He grew up at our home in the country catching mice and birds, alertering us to the occasional copperhead on the patio, and snoozing away the afternoons in his favorite porch chair.  He occasionally got into a fight, but the most serious wound he ever had was a split ear.

After sixteen years of country life, he moved with us to the city, and although he has adjusted remarkably well, he has been attacked several times here.  We aren't sure whether he is getting attacked by another cat or by a raccoon, but the bites have been vicious.  His last wounds were almost fatal.  

Now, if you are faint of heart, you may want to skip these next paragraphs.  We first noticed a patch of hair missing and two puncture wounds on his side.  We tend to try home veterinary practices first, so I washed the bites and put antibiotic cream on them.  But Duncan stopped eating and drinking, and we noticed pus oozing from the wounds, so we called the vet.  She was out of the office, and said that the cat was so old that this might be the end for him.  We still use our country vet, and since it was late, she left the antibiotics on ice hanging on the clinic door for us with instructions to squeeze all of the pus out that we could.

Duncan got his first dose of antibiotics and got his wounds pressed to get the pus out.  We thought he was on the road to recovery.  But the next morning, the poor old cat was sicker than ever and was hiding in a corner.  I picked him up under his front legs to get him out and thought he was peeing on my foot.  Then I smelled it.  Thick, disgusting pus running out of his chest.  Not just a little, buckets of pus.  Well, that is a bit of an exaggeration, but more pus that I had ever seen.  I tilted Duncan forward and more pus ran out.  I pressed around the wound, and pus, thick and smelling of death ran out.  In all I estimate there was 1/2 cup of pus that morning.  We checked him all over and found one more wound that had no pus.  

Duncan was washed and treated with antibiotics for a week and has recovered nicely.  Once again he is enjoying lying on the deck and eyeing the occasional bird in the yard.  I never guessed that city life would be more dangerous for Duncan than living in the country.  And I will be less inclined to play veterinarian in the future.