Percy On The Mend

For almost two years, Percy has roamed the meadows and treed patches of Greenland Avenue without fear. He has conquered marauding dogs and cats not smart enough to know they breached his territory. He has come home with black cat fur protruding from his toes, a trophy of a backyard victory.

A few weeks ago, he met his match. Aside from a cat’s battle screech, I found no other evidence of his attacker till his attempts to hide a gash on his neck finally failed on Tuesday evening. Young Percy had been wounded badly.

I knew something felt wrong the moment I returned from an afternoon walk with Nancy to find a groggy, silent Percy clinging to sleep at all costs. For as much as his voice rattled me from sleep at inopportune hours, its abrupt disappearance was an instant tipoff to his condition. I let him outside, and he immediately curled up on the porch couch, somewhat disoriented and oblivious to his surroundings.

Monday he seemed better, acting almost gregarious in his attempts to go outside and eating a little more food. Tuesday he seemed fine after work, enjoying a brief jaunt through the yard and reluctantly accepting his return to the apartment. By Tuesday night, he regressed and again lumbered with a groggy gait. That was when I found the dime-sized plug of gray and crimson behind his right ear.

Until they shaved it at the vet’s office, I had no idea. The deep puncture just missed his ear, and abscessed with amazing speed. I can only guess the teeth of a large dog or possibly a coyote could cause so much damage. I had gone to the vet with the worst case embedded in my brain matter. If the infection had damaged his brain, I knew what had to happen. It left me quite glum when watching his every action in the apartment windowsill or on the exam room’s table. I wanted to capture everything in case I could capture nothing else.

Until they shaved it at the vet’s office, I had no idea. The deep puncture just missed his ear, and abscessed with amazing speed. Cats excel at hiding weakness, so it was not shocking. They attached a cone for me. I detached the cone so Percy could eat.

After gorging himself on canned food, Percy went for the wound immediately, licking and scratching at the drain. The cone has stayed on ever since. It interferes with his ability to navigate. All cats use their whiskers as a guide; Percy has exceptionally long whiskers and keeps stumbling into items around the house. His jumps are almost painful to watch, as he fears missing his target.

Percy could fend off the neighborhood dogs, but the depth of his wound indicated a canine culprit. I suspect some shepherd, husky or pit mix got grasp of his neck and dug in. His early morning ventures do not rule out a coyote, though. They do roam Nashville with the same impunity of everywhere else in the Lower 48. A coyote might have had the patience to ambush him, patience a domestic canine would not. In the end, I can only guess. The vets could not tell either.

Friday brought the biggest surprise. As expected, Percy has shed his collar while I worked. Unexpectedly, he also pulled out the drain installed in his wound. In his zeal to scratch the wounded area, he had impeded the healing process.

Saturday had equally strange turns. Ten minutes after reattaching his collar, bottles and dishes rattled in the kitchen. I found him thrashing on the floor with one leg stuck inside of the collar. He growled and lurched against the ground. Once freed, I tightened the collar two more notches. I was no longer concerned with his comfort, not when he would slip free at every turn and launch his claws onto the wound.

Once he stopped trying to break free of the cone, the healing began. He also began to accept the wound cleaning would happen whether or not he wanted it. The quality of food he received usually went up after a cleaning, so I think the

He still has scabs yet to heal, but he sits in the window, ornery as ever. Yet something has changed. Whether he has forgotten or not, his zeal to run outside has diminished. He emits a few meows from the window ledge, but never fiddles with the doorknob with his former fury. Perhaps he is weighed by thoughts of what bit his scruff, or perhaps a little time will increase his clamor for the outdoors.