I’m to blame. I was impatient, stupid and overconfident in his doped-up state. Yes, Dusty is a male. Time to rewind.
Dusty remained hostile in his rather large cage. I continued to provide water, food, shade, litter and a little cave to hide in; he continued to keep knocking things over in rage. The cave came in handy to gain Agamemnon’s trust and personality shift. Miguel used it to stay warm. Dusty could make himself incredibly small in it. Despite my efforts, he growled and hissed at every approach.
Then I saw pus on the injured paw. My vet said they could see him immediately instead of much, much later. Wrangling into the carrier resulted in a nasty scratch on my left index finger and super painful bite on my right ring finger’s knuckle. On the latter, Dusty successfully bit through the towel I used to cover his vision and a latex glove.
After the tech took him for immediate treatment, I had to rush to Walgreen’s for a tetanus shot. Oddly, my insurance wouldn’t cover it. They’d cover a combined tetanus, diphtheria and pertussis (whooping cough) shot at no cost. The pharmacist assured me I wasn’t depriving a child in need of this; back-to-school time is coming. Even if it’s your own cat that bites you and leaves a deep wound, you need treatment. Cat’s scratch fever is real, it’s not only a Ted Nugget song.
The vet cleaned up Dusty’s injury, reported he also got bopped in the eye but it would be fine. No ear mites. He’s a dude about two-to-thee years of age. He might have been a pet as he isn’t jowly in the face from hormones. It was a good thing he got care sooner than planned, he had a fever (I figured, pus means the infection is cranking up) and was dehydrated, he wouldn’t be if he drank the water I gave him.
I was allowed to take him home, put him back in the big cage. Keep him far away from Isis and Agamemnon. Isis didn’t care about anyone outside. Aggie kept looking out the window at the cage, wondering, who is that? The plan for the next week was keep giving him this anti-biotic which has the side effect of mellowing out cats. Try to apply salve on the injury. Continue to monitor his eating and drinking.
Jennifer was on her way over too. We had plans last night to see Jason Isbell and Lucinda Williams at the ACL Theater. I stupidly didn’t think she’d arrive to help me so I opened the carrier, tried to get a good grip on his neck through the towel to transfer him. Why? I figured he was too lethargic to fight back and my vet always clips nails for free. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Dusty squirmed and screamed out of my control and bolted into my overgrown yard. Meanwhile, Jennifer could hear it all as she was at my front door.
I’ve been choking back the tears off and on since then. I don’t care about how much I spent, it was really nothing. I was able to use some remaining credit I built up with the Vet in what’s called the Molly Fund. Again, it’s not the money. I’m distraught over Dusty still not being at full strength. He’s out there alone, scared, thirsty and partially injured. I know he’s only a cat, gratitude isn’t something a feral animals shows like my lovey-dovey duo or their predecessors Miette and Molly (I miss them every day). I just don’t want him to be another casualty around here.
The trap is reset. The stinky wet food is in it and going to be changed every 12 hours or so, hoping against fear and doubt, Dusty will come back to me. I promise, he won’t be a foster failure. Dusty will find a forever home or get sterilized and released. Preferably the former.
Should the trap catch the other kitty or the possum again, I can live with it but Dusty is now my primary objective. Animals do think with their stomachs.