Though my regular vet clinic offered me the privilege of an online consultation (being their client for over ten years) I wouldn’t know how to begin. I wouldn’t know what to say; half of the cat I am holding is bent to one side, and the other half is bent to the other.
It’s not just her bones, not just her spine. The rest of her organs went to the same side of the bent.
I mean, how do I explain? “Doc, I have a cat whose top half all on the right and the bottom half are all on the left”
Well, maybe I was paranoid. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just hernia. Still I took the cat to see my vet, with appointment very well in advance. Vet Clinics can open, in my part of the world, but they can only take a certain number of patients, and open their practice for only a half day.
Curiosity kills the cat (rescuer).
“She had been hit”, my vet said, as she examined the cat. “Quite a long time ago”
“She has been hit in the mid section, while she was walking, and the impact was so hard the rest of her organs were pushed to the other side and it got stuck to the inner side of her skin”
Who knows what sort of jumble is inside there.
“How did she survive, if the incident were so horrible?”
“What about you ask her and share me the story? It must be fantastic”
It must be, but never mind, I would never get the answer then. Knowing she broke nothing, was not in any pain, and is functioning as a healthy cat – aside from her S shaped body – is in itself a fantastic news.
Taking her back home, though, I watch her peeking through her carrier, all the way back, with sheer wonder. Her face, then so tired, so old, became so young. Her eyes, usually indifferent, became so round.
By the red light I asked her what she has been watching. She looked at me, with eyes screaming “Wow!” and she went back to sight-seeing.
When we got home, she jumped out of her carrier, skip and trot to the back, and straight to the food bowl.
What is the point, right? What is the point of going back to the past and make a mess to correct things, while we have the whole future waiting for us to make?
Sometimes it’s difficult for her to manoeuvre, but if she cannot just bend, she makes a U Turn. Sometimes it’s difficult for her to eat from a bowl on the floor, so she brings her kibbles to a low shelf and eats there, keeping her chin straight. She eats slowly, but when others try to take over her food, she always finds another bowl.
We made a small table for her to raise her bowl to the height of her chin and she enjoys it. We give her personal space, so she can eat at her own pace. The rest of the day, she is free to do whatever she likes.
What seemed to be a perpetual sinus problem, eventually stopped. She was no longer emaciated, she can stand firmly, she can walk normally, she can run, she can groom, she can jump, she can climb. Her fur is clearer, her eyes are brighter.
Sometimes I see her chase imaginary butterflies, sometimes I see her turn leaves and peek into crevasses. Sometimes she just sleeps with a smile on her lips all day long.
Do I really want to get her on the operating table so she can be back to normal?
But even if I insist, which part of her, or her life, that is not normal?
Norma went inside the house one afternoon to play with the kittens, and asked for extra food.
I gave her the extra food. I pat her head took a mask. Nowadays, I never left without it. I took gloves from the box. Even though it’s so hot during the day and I feel like my hands are cooked, I wear it anyway.
Then I grabbed my bag. After I got to know Coronavirus, there is always a bottle of sanitizer inside; wipes, tissue paper, and more cat food than ever before.
Normal is coping with the game; and Norma taught me it’s the only way to win.