One Unhappy Puss in Boots

I awoke two Sundays ago with an ass in my face. (It's not that uncommon, really. One of my favorite Puss in Boots' favorite pastimes includes arranging himself in such a manner that his ass and my head are in close proximity and perfectly aligned.)


When I reached around to give The Puss the attention he demanded, he moved toward the window above my bed with a bit less stealth and grace than he typically manages. It was then I noticed the limp. The swollen paw.

Upon further inspection, I found a fairly large gaping hole was the root of the swelling and limping. With a bit of help from Roommate, I managed to shove The Puss into his carrier before dutifully hauling him out in search of medical assistance.

We waited in a small examination room that was decked with wing backed chairs and antique furniture rather than the metal table I'd expected. The Puss explored the room and the lingering smells of the hurt and sick animals before him. Obviously unimpressed with their scents, he chose the one wooden chair in the room as his throne for the wait.

The doctor examined The Puss and outlined his treatment plan before wrapping him in a towel and gently removing him down the corridor to the back of the hospital. The Puss's howls reverberated throughout the building as I waited, heart aching slightly for his pain.

A couple hours and a couple hundred greenbacks later, I took one miserable beast home from the animal hospital.

Puss spent about a week and a half in the stupid lampshade thing, mercilessly knocking into walls and furniture and any pesky humans who dared exist in his chosen path and constantly begging to go outside.

The torture device collar around his neck made The Puss decidedly more determined to obtain affection and his navigating our townhouse a bit more difficult than usual.

Climbing the stairs proved a particularly cumbersome activity. When The Puss tried to climb straight up, the lower rim of the collar caught on each step. So he navigated on a diagonal, going up two or three steps before hitting a wall or banister and having to change directions. (Oh, how I wish I'd had a camcorder.)

I have to admit, his plight was highly amusing.


The antibiotics have dutifully been forced down his throat (not without much fighting and biting, mind you), and the paw has healed nicely. I owe Roommate a great deal for taking care of The Puss's treatment in my work-related, week-long absence. (Especially since she merely tolerates his presence when he's not hurt or particularly needy.)