Spoilers: He's fine.
But when the emergency vet finally called me back, four hours after I'd left my severely injured cat, Sirius, in her care, to inform me that I'd better prepare myself for the likelihood of my cat's paw being amputated, I was not fine at all.
Here's how it all went down.
Saturday, July 8
We were sitting outdoors at the table having just finished dinner. With a thump, Sirius hopped over the back fence, and casually made his way up to the back door. I got up to let him in; I have a clear picture in my head of his smooth, sleek black body flowing up the steps and inside, across the orange rug and into the deep, quiet calm of the house. Knowing that he would be hungry, my fourth-born followed him to make sure he had access to a king's supply of kibble.
"Mom, Sirius is hurt." My daughter called down to me from an open window upstairs, and I felt the first, fast, fist of adrenaline slam into my stomach.
Five minutes later, after establishing that he had a gnarly set of wounds, plenty of blood, and a little white thing protruding from his flesh - please tell me that is not a bone - we were off to the emergency vet.
Within an hour, with Sirius stabilized, the intake forms dutifully filled in, and the vet tech promising a vet would get a good look at him very soon, my daughter and I returned home to wait for a call.
Four hours later came that fateful call, with a suggestion that we sign an email consent for a surgeon to treat him in the morning, and do whatever he/she deemed necessary to be done. Including amputation.
Uhh no.
Absolutely not, my family and I decided. Stabilize him, bandage him, and get him going on antibiotics and pain meds, then we'll be by to pick him up. And we'll let our regular vet make the call on further treatment.
^ "I am a groggy little cat in a cardboard box." Honestly, he's never looked cozier.
^ Rather than lift him out of the box, we cut him out. And his siblings looked on in amazement.
Sunday, July 9
Eight a.m. is not a time when I usually bounce out of bed, but I was beyond eager to get Sirius back home. He was, as expected, groggy, disoriented, and rather unhappy with the huge bandage on his front left paw. He looked and moved like a peg leg pirate, and everyone was miserable.
We took off his head cone immediately, and settled in for some round the clock nursing care.
The emergency vet had stressed hard that Sirius would need his bandage changed every single day, and I took those directions very much to heart. I left a message on my regular vet's voicemail, pleading desperately for an appointment on Monday.
My daughter and I took turns napping on and off during the night. Sirius slept fitfully. We worried nonstop.
^ "Someone has attached a miniature baseball bat to my leg and I am not impressed."
^ Angel child.
Monday, July 10
Our vet's office called first thing and got us an appointment for that very afternoon!
What a relief.
Once Dr. Victoria got a good look at our boy's wounds, she gave us a report.
There was a lot of flesh damage. Most of the wounds were low on his paw, though there were a few nasty bits up near the top of his leg. Stitches and antibiotics would fix all that.
Of the four digits on that paw - think of them as his fingers, she instructed us - two were broken. One was a clean fracture that would heal up just fine as is, but the other was a compound fracture. Yes, that was indeed bone we had seen in his open wound, and now some of that bone tissue had died and needed to be removed.
"I've seen cats recover from far worse. They have an amazing ability to heal. I think Sirius is going to be just fine."
So with our hearts brimming with relief and trust, we sent Sirius off to the treatment area for a quick procedure, and then a fresh splint and bandage. Little boy did great.
^ "I'm riding in the car and I'm completely freaked out!"
^ "Sometimes you just gotta give in and snuggle for a while."
^ Either dreamily gazing at the day lilies under which he loves to sleep or counting the hummingbirds he'd like to murder. Hard to tell the difference.
^ "Another trip to the vet, another afternoon spent stuffed in a cardboard box."
Tuesday, July 11 through Monday, July 24
Days bled into nights and our normal routines were thoroughly upended by our round the clock care routine. Trying to keep our boy fed, medicated, and reasonably comfortable became our entire existence. Running him sixty miles round trip to the vet's office every three days to get his bandages changed, in the height of Boeing shift change traffic, became my regular grind. More than once, my daughter and I compared our challenge as similar to bringing home a newborn, though no newborn of mine ever put me through anything like this.
We took turns dozing on our inflatable mattresses; since Sirius was not to be leaping up or down from the bed (though miraculously, his back legs had more than enough go power to get the job done) we decided to join him on the floor.
We mopped up countless potty puddles, since he was not up for using even the special litter box we rigged for him with low sides so he could easily step in.
We ran up and down the stairs fetching supplies for the sick room.
We watched handfuls of videos with tips for dealing with injured cats.
We took turns going out to feed ourselves, to shower, to take mini mental health breaks.
We also discovered that Sirius was so upset by his status that he began to have panic attacks.
Some were small - he'd shake his bandaged leg in utter frustration, over and over again.
Other times, he'd wake from a sound sleep and jump at the surprise at finding that wretched bandage still on his foot. Once he flew five feet out of a chair in a blind panic.
The worst one happened about a week in. Apropos of nothing, Sirius hurled himself into the air, banging on furniture and the walls, launching himself again and again, screeching and yeowling at top volumes while using his back legs to try to lever off his bandage. He succeeded in yanking it about an inch out of place while his teeth and claws grazed my daughter and me as we desperately tried to pin him down with blankets. The experience was terrifying for all three of us and it took literally hours to calm him; we took turns swaddling him in light blankets and holding him tight. I found that he came closest to content when I held him so he could look out the window to the front yard; he and I watched from four a.m.to noon as night turned to day and our neighborhood came to life. It was a dreamy and surreal morning that I won't soon forget.
Later that day, Dr. Victoria helped us tinker with his meds to keep him more consistently sedated.
She answered our endless questions about how to help him better manage his stress.
She was endlessly encouraging and confident and reassuring to both our cat and us humans.
She gave us just what we needed to keep going.
On Monday, July 24, two weeks and two days after his accident, Sirius got all of his stitches removed. An x-ray showed that the broken bones were healing nicely, and Dr. Victoria expected that he could soon move to a soft cast, which would be more comfortable and easier to move around in.
^ Handsome boy on his last morning in a bandage.
Thursday, July 27
Surprise! Sirius is suddenly bandage free!
We went in to the vet's office for what we expected to be a routine bandage change, and voila! What we got back was a cat with no bandage on his foot. Dr. Tim, the resident orthopedic specialist, gave our boy a good looking over and decided he was well enough along to function just fine without a bandage.
My daughter and I were gobsmacked. The vet tech had to tell us more than once that we were really, truly done with bandages. Seemed like a miracle.
"Have him rest for another month, and call us if anything seems wrong."
"Let him try out some light jumping and climbing. He'll stop if it hurts."
"I expect him to fully recover, and be the same cat he was before the injury."
^ "You think I look rough? You should see the other guy."
So now we are home, watching our brave little boy adjust to moving around without the dreaded peg leg. His injured paw is a bit of a mess, what with red, raw wounds still healing and the shaved fur just beginning to grow back. But all he needs now is time.
Sirius is going to be just fine
P.S. Sirius wasn't hurt in a fight. He wasn't hit by a car. We may never know exactly what happened to our boy, but my husband suspects he got caught in a mole trap and that may not be wrong.
