Well, Max is staying here. He's our outside cat now. He's still taking medicine every morning - which he hates - and eating like that guy who got arrested at the Nathan's Hot Dog contest. Unfortunately, I discovered a new problem for ol' Maximillian Mew. His tongue is atrophied. This means he can't lick himself or drink water like a normal cat. It's amazing what a gal can do with a turkey baster and a box of baby wipes. I squirt a little water in his mouth, wait until he swallows and repeat the process. When he's finished eating or drinking, out come the baby wipes and he's a clean kitty again.
He's like the happiest cat ever now. Who knows how long it's been since the guy had a real drink or someone who cares enough to get food out of his fur?
Speaking of which, a wrinkle of a different sort entirely also presented itself last night when there came a knock on the door. A teenage girl and her friend were standing on my porch, wanting to know about the cat. The girl insisted that Max was hers. First thing I thought was "Oh, so you're the stupnagle who lost him last year."
Nope. She's the stupnagle who lost him a few weeks ago when I started taking care of him. Yep, she knew about his broken face, and no, she didn't take him to the vet. Her friend laughed about it and she acted like it wasn't a big deal.
Needless to say I went psycho-middle-aged-mom. Here's this animal who's nearly starved to death with an infected, broken jaw and an inability to drink when it's 100 degrees out, and it's no big deal? Moron. And she had the gall to get in my face because she heard I was trying to give him away to a good home. She's lucky I didn't deck her.
Yeah, I know she's young, and I would've been calmer if her friend didn't think it was funny and the girl showed some remorse for Max's condition. :steam:
I spent most of last night wondering whether she'd come back and steal him away. She never took care of him in the first place, how is she ever going to give him the treatment he needs now? Lucky for her, Max was waiting on the porch when I got up. (I think I figured out who the chickie-poo is, so I can get him back even if he does disappear.)
He's my cat now. Pictures pending. He's still looking rough, but at least I got most of the mats out of his fur. It's a work in progress. My own little kitty WIP. ;o)