My Badass Boo-Boo Baby

If you haven't been around a while, or read the archives, I have this former-stray cat named Max.  He was abused and broken when I rescued him.  He'd obviously been on the streets for a while, with a busted jaw no-less, but at some point, someone loved him.  He looks to be Maine Coon - if not fully than in part, he's a lover-boy with a rumbling purr, and someone had him neutered.  Yup, he's my boo baby.

He's also a badass.  He'll kick any other cat's ass just for looking at him sideways.  Set foot on his lawn?  Fuggetaboutit.  "You want a piece a me? Come and get it, asshole."  Which is why he's a not just a boo anymore.  He's literally a boo-boo baby. 

Usually in these fight, Max wins.  He kicks tail, takes names, and files them away for later.  Not last week.  Last week, I think someone kicked Max's butt. I woke up one morning and he wouldn't come out of his box - all day.  "Not even kinda hungry.  Just leave me alone."  When I finally coaxed him out, he limped up to me and meowed like he'd never been so demoralized in his life.

I thought he just pulled a muscle or something in his shoulder.  I brought him inside for a couple days - just so he wouldn't have to worry about trying to run on a gimpy leg - and he seemed to get better.  Since he was better, I took him back outside.  I thought the lump on his shoulder was residual swelling.

Until it burst.

I won't go into the gory and disgusting details, but Max ended up with two burst abscesses on his left shoulder.  I left messages for the vet, but not a peep all weekend.  So I tended to Max myself.  Picture a woman with a bottle of mecuro-clear (clear mecuro-chrome), a bag of cotton balls and prayer.

Yesterday morning I called every fifteen minutes from the time the vet's office usually opens until 10, when he's usually out in the countryside tending to cattle.  Still no answer.  I finally got ahold of the guy around 4pm (when the doc usually gets back from his large animal visits), and got Max right in. 

At that point, I didn't really need the vet to do anything.  Max's wounds had drained and were starting to heal.  What I needed more than anything was the vet's ability to pony up with the antibiotics.  So, the vet looked at him, cleaned his wounds, looked some more and gave me a bottle of pink goo to squirt down Max's throat twice a day.

Yup, Max is my badass boo-boo kitty.  He's a great cat.  The only one I know who can growl and purr at the same time (when I was first cleaning his wounds) and he'll be fine soon.  Here's hoping he learned to not be so badass in the future, so he can avoid more boo-boos.