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.