• MarketingGirlFriday

Twelve days a slave...

Updated: Nov 6, 2018

Miles Catley is a special little dude. He was born under a shed, where he lived with his mum and two siblings for 3 long months. The folk who owned the shed (but not the cats), fearing the impact of the cold winter on the foursome, eventually captured the little family and took them to an animal shelter. Sadly for the young kitties, the lack of handling at a young age meant they were effectively semi-feral and difficult to home. Having spent a whole year in the shelter, with little hope of adoption, Milo came to live with us.

And what an amazing little fellow he has been! He didn’t take long to ‘turn’, soon persuaded that a warm, cosy bed and a plateful of tasty dinner were far better options than a life in the wild. And although wary of strangers, loud noises and disruption, he is also the most cheerful cat we’ve ever known, always ready to greet us with a tail-up, a cheeky glint in his eye and a head butt that has the power to knock you over.

So it was a bit of a shock when last week I had a call to say the little chap had been in an accident and was being kept in at the emergency vet, awaiting surgery. What happened, we will never know, but a long, deep gash from his back to his belly and some dental injuries needed urgent attention, and we were beyond lucky to have a vet hospital, on our doorstep, that would operate on a Sunday evening.

Fast forward twelve days, and during that time I have been living life as dictated by (a recovering) Miles Catley. Living with Miles Catley, sleeping with Miles Catley, eating with Miles Catley. And the experience has taught me a thing or two...

I am proficient at manhandling the cat in and out of the collar of shame several times a day, generally without being bitten or sworn at

I am constantly on alert to catch the cat when he shakes his head and realises he has no balance whatsoever due to the stupid collar of shame

I can wrestle the cat in and out of a cat onesie (much good that was, as the cat refused to move for 24 hours once wearing the onesie)

I can now efficiently administer meds under the tongue (the cat’s, not mine)

I can squeeze every last drop of gravy out of a pouch of cat food to create the tastiest soup known to catkind

I am a master at hiding more meds in this soup

I can spot the cat attempting to lick his stitches from 10 paces away

I can hear the cat attempting to lick his stitches from 20 paces away

I can sleep all night with my arm around the cat because he is feeling needy

I can stay awake all night because the cat won’t settle as he is feeling needy

I can (eventually) win the battle over cat trying to sleep on my laptop while I am working, sleep on my paperwork while I am working, and telephone clients while the cat is having a general meltdown (although I am less proficient at the latter and have had to make a few apologies to clients while raising my voice to the cat)

I can pretend to the cat that bringing the cat travel box into the room does not necessarily mean we are going to the vets for a third day in a row...(actually, no, I am rubbish at that..)

In addition, I know that despite being poorly, the cat develops super-cat powers when being restrained in any way (crate, box, vet) and that 2 out of 3 of our other cats will regard the coned one as a complete alien species when they spy him lumbering around in the collar of doom.

With at least another week of cat captivity (or 'cativity' as I refer to it) on the cards, I am now quite possibly losing the plot.

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