Dobby the House Elf Procreates

This thing…is not… a cat.  We’re not totally sure of what she is, but she’s not really a cat. She looks like Dobby the House Elf had a love child with a possum.

Frankly, this critter is UGHhhhh…LEEE.  She was one of my sister’s recent foster kitties, and being that butt-ugly AND shy, her chances of being adopted were pretty much nil.  She’s a sweet little thing, so we decided to step in.

Then we discovered her lack of feline traits as well as how she doesn’t resemble one.

First off, she fell off the desk and bellyflopped… and oh my GOD did she fart as she hit.  I know animals can tell when they’re being laughed at but I’m sorry I was crying it was so funny.  She slipped from the top of my secretary and SPLAT-FSSSSST and this grey-green CLOUD emerged.  The plant on the desk wilted.

She hopped up and ran under the table.  When I composed myself sufficiently I went and got her.  Then I changed my underpants.

The dog doesn’t know what to make of the whole thing – but she’s mostly deaf, and is going blind.  MaeMae was trying to bite her backside while she was sleeping last night.

We got her fixed yesterday.  They told us to keep her quiet with no jumping for 36 hours.  Holy crap.

Have you seen the game drunk waiter?  It’s where party goers twirl around six times or whatever then immediately take a trayful of cups of water and try to run across a lawn to the other side with them.  They’re generally already three sheets to the wind while playing said game and immediately fall over, laughing themselves sick.

Yeah.  Well, that was the cat last night, except minus the tray of drinks.  Oh, and she BADLY wanted to lick her incision.  Since this was done by the cat rescue, who does dozens and dozens of kitty-fixes, it’s neat and small, but she came home only with instructions and no accoutrements, as she would from the regular vet…

“If the cat licks the incision, you must purchase an Elizabethan Collar.”

I dispatched Beloved forthwith to PetSmart.

Which only had dog versions, one for $11.99 and another for $36.99.  (WTH?  Does that medicate the cat?  Sing it to sleep?)

Sensibly, she bought the cheaper one, which was good, because she can’t estimate size worth a darn.  One shake of her head, that cat would send the collar flying through the window.  XS for a dog is not the same thing as for an 11 week old kitten.

Okay.  Pivot and try another tactic.  Well, with Abby the dog, she hates the Collar of Shame, so at the vet’s suggestion, we bought children’s t-shirts and I did alterations and she wore boys’ undershirts to protect incisions instead.  Maybe we could do the same for the cat…?

Got a fresh t-shirt (Abbs is pretty stocky, so she wears boy’s 10, but I figured an armhole might work… )  Started chopping away and sewing and wound up with this robe thing, bright white, to encase the cat.

So, for anyone who doesn’t know, my son is black.  Upon eyeballing the cat’s new attire,  he shook his head and rolled his eyes. What???

Oh my god, it looked like I was dressing up the cat as a Grand Dragon of the KKK.  Okay, it’s not like I’m gonna send the little feline out to burn crosses on the neighbors’ lawns!  AND there was no hood!  (okay, not really, but it did kinda look…)  sigh.

But in the end, the cat hated it.  Like, was ready to rip my eyes out.  Not only that, it didn’t cover the incision.  So it didn’t matter she resembled David Duke after a battle with a possum in a Harry Potter parody.  I couldn’t even keep it on her long enough to snap a pic she was that furious.

We decided to let fate take the upper hand and hope she didn’t lick the stitches out.

She’s okay this morning but she’s determined to be one of the flying Wallendas.  OMG.  Stop.  Just… stop.