Let us flashback to just over three weeks ago and after a neighbourhood cat had been terrorising our house for some time, the long war came to a head. With Sockies being the absolute definition of territorial, she hadn’t taken kindly to this ginger tom named Charlie, recently attempting to make himself known in and around our garden. I caught the pair of them, one big ball of ginger and black fur, rolling around screaming and growling at each other. Sustaining some scratches myself, I managed to quickly separate them by hand before sending Charlie a clear message to bugger off by soaking him with water. It wasn’t until the end of said week of the aforementioned fight, that I realised she had sustained an injury during her altercation. The likes of which had left her with a nasty looking, slightly pus exuding tooth shaped wound on her side. Having noticed this with less than 24 hours to go until we put them in the care of a cattery for 4 days, I began to bathe the wound hourly with warm salty water.
We hadn’t used this cattery previously and so I was already a little nervous about what to expect. Now I had the added worry of whether the owner would care for the wound and take her to the vets if necessary. I myself didn’t have the time as it was a bank holiday and I didn’t feel it warranted using a valuable slot with the emergency vet. Thankfully I needn’t have worried as the cattery owner was an expert. She made me feel confident we had left Sockies in safe hands whilst we went and enjoyed 4 fun filled, and blissful days at a British all inclusive resort with the in-laws. On our return, both wounds (very close to each other) had healed and as I parted the fur, the scabs came loose leaving only a scar as evidence.
Bringing you forward to the start of this week, exactly 7 days ago around the same time last Sunday, we arrived home from a relatively lovely afternoon at the beach. (Why it wasn’t completely lovely is another story). On reaching the upstairs landing I found blood on the carpet. I instantly sought out Sockies and as I parted her fur, to my horror, the wound had reopened and was now double the size. Almost as though both wounds had reopened and merged. Immediately I fitted her with a buster collar to prevent her from licking it. Typically it was a Sunday evening so the vets were closed. First thing Monday morning I called the vets to arrange an appointment. Making my way down there with a fat heavy cat in one hand and leading a bewildered toddler to his first trip to the vets in another, we arrived and were promptly taken to the examine room. The vet was relatively happy with the wound and explained it was likely that it had healed with the infection trapped under the surface of the skin which had eventually reopened the wound. The fur around the wound was technically dead and just came away in the vets hand. Whilst I was horrified with it’s appearance, the vet was happy it would heal nicely and gave Sockies some immediate pain relief and an antibiotic injection. George merrily cleared the vets window sill of any diagrams, booklets and information leaflets she had on there whilst I comforted Sockies. Although to be fair she appeared not to be suffering and was fine in herself.
Arriving home £140 lighter and with George now having had an education in ‘cat doctors’ and Sockies feeling wholly sorry for herself in the buster collar, we stayed out of her way as I explained to George to leave her alone as she had an ‘ouchie’ and didn’t feel well. Sockies in the meantime wandered around bumping into toys and furniture, attempting to use them as an accomplice to remove the collar. She has now healed well and hopefully that is the end of it, until the next battle!
Just to make life that little bit more of a challenge this week, George started coughing in his sleep last Sunday night. By Tuesday myself and hubby were quite concerned by the sound of the cough as it wasn’t dissimilar to when he had had croup. Although throughout the day aside from being slightly off his food and a bit snotty, the cough wasn’t there. I took him to see the doctor Tuesday who actually managed to get a look in his mouth after he found his chest to be clear. Seeing spots on his throat, coupled with a supposedly high temperature, (something I couldn’t feel to touch his skin), he was diagnosed with tonsillitis and we went home with antibiotics. Aside from the paracetamol for his temperature making him sleepy, George was still relatively energetic and playful, and such an enthusiastic little boy when it came to taking his medicine. We had some chill time watching this rather unusual film below. Animal Kingdom: Let’s go Ape.
The day of Georges diagnosis, I slowly found myself struggling to find the energy to do simple tasks needed to run the home and care for George. I have recently started some new medication to help prevent recurring migraines and these in turn can make me feel a bit drained and tired without caffeine. However, waking neck ached and I knew it because my glands were swollen. So I was totally unsurprised to find my tonsils swollen and full of pus. Niiiiice! One trip to the doctors later and I returned with a course of antibiotics.
Having become complete social lepers, no one wanting to be in our company for fear of catching something, we spent the majority of the week doing activities at home. I am now pleased to say that despite our antibiotic courses still incomplete, we are feeling much better. The ex pharmacy technician in me feels compelled to state at this point that all antibiotic courses should be completed as prescribed and not stopped simply because you feel better.
Everyone more or less fighting fit again, hubbie having yet again escaped the germs, we decided today to go for an afternoon walk to the woods. Having never visited these woods before but having seen recent recommendations from friends, we ventured to one of the entrances. Only to find this was the obvious dog walkers trail. The hills and large steps became too much for George and he’s quite tiring to carry now so we hoped back in the car and headed to another car park entrance. This began with a narrow pebbled path with high stinging nettles either side. As George travelled on hubbies shoulders to escpae the nettles, we made our way down the steep pebble path rather pessimistically thinking our ideas for an adventurous afternoon where not being met. Finally the path opened out into some woods. We began to enjoy a lovely autumnal walk, collecting sticks and discovering acorns when suddenly we encountered a strange, and rather large looking red insect. As we introduced the insect to George as being Gaston’s cousin (all non Ben and Holly fans look on bewildered), myself and hubby suddenly realised that this was no large insect. It was in fact two strange red insects mating. We quickly explained to George that Gaston’s cousin wanted to go to bed so we should leave him in peace and continue on our walk. As I continued down the path, I foolishly scoured the trees, looking for another exciting creature to show to George. My eyes were completely oblivious to the massive tree root I was about to trip on and turn into some crazy parachutist style drop and roll. One ouchie shin later and back on my feet, hubby decided he couldn’t carry the both of us, so we headed home rather mournfully. I think hubby was a bit too easily reminded of just how easily your life can be limited by a simple fall, having witnessed me slip on a wet floor just over a year ago and damage my elbow. See our previous post here.