We are a 3-cat family. Two lady cats and a guy cat, whom we fondly term "Mafia Cat." Roxanne, the queen of the roost, is around 16 years old. She's actually our oldest daughter's cat, left with us when she got married because Roxanne was used to us, would be happier with us, and the new husband didn't particularly want a cat in his home. Piewacket belongs to our youngest daughter who still lives at home. She's around 6 years old, probably the least-offensive cat who lives with us. Mafia Cat, whose real name is Figaro, is about 3 years old, and is our son's cat, left with us when said son moved out almost 2 years ago. Son didn't have the pet deposit so it was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. Then said son discovered that the street he now lives on is rather busy, he asked if Figaro could continue to live with us.
Roxanne and Piewacket don't get along especially well as a rule. They tolerate each other on the good days, and hiss and spit on the others. Mafia Cat gets his entertainment by chasing after the girls every chance he gets. So "cat-life" in our household is never a dull moment. And because Mafia Cat doesn't get along with the girls, and because we value our sleep and don't want to be woken up in the middle of the night by howling and growling, Mafia Cat gets put out before we go to bed.
Friday morning, Mafia Cat came in, limping slightly. I could see a little lump on his left rear foot, but no other indication of injury. I tried to look at it, but he was not happy about it. Did I mention that he is a very large cat? With sharp teeth and claws? Later in the morning he was meowing quite a bit. He seldom meows, and when he does it's more like a little squeek. He was doing a lot of meowing, so we knew something was wrong. So our daughter (Piewacket's "mommy") hunted down the cat carrier, and Dad & daughter hauled Mafia Cat off to the vet to have his injury checked out.
A couple hours and small fortune later, Mafia Cat returned home with a cast on his injured paw. For the next couple of hours he was very highly entertaining as he got used to his new apparel. He didn't know what to do with this new equipment. He couldn't put it down to walk on, so he stuck it straight out behind him. He could only move backwards, when he wasn't busy looking like one of the old childhood toys called "Weebles." He tried to stand, but always fell on his backside and rolled around, then tried to get up and ended up scooting around backwards. He scooted around the perimiter of the livingroom, landing in my knitting basket where he tried to dismantle the afghan I have been working on. I dug him out as carefully as I could, remembering his sharp teeth and claws.
He did manage to get himself to the kitchen for his dinner though, walking forwards and not backwards. But he continued his backwards scoots throughout the evening, leg stuck straight out behind him. And did I mention that he tried to chew the cast off his foot?
By Saturday morning he had a better handle on his cast. He was moving forward more than backwards, was less cranky, and had quit chewing on the cast. I think we're all going to live through this.
And the lady cats? They have enjoyed the past few days of peace and solitude, since Mafia Cat can't run fast enough to be a threat to them.
