Remember that one time my cat, Sable, got shot with a pellet gun by some asshole? And remember how the vet was all, oh, she might need surgery but I totally can’t do it so I’ll have to refer you to someone else and oh BY THE WAY it’ll cost, like, $1,500 and oh hey also it may or may not actually benefit Sable? And remember how she was all, oh you could also consider AMPUTATION and then tears of OH MY FUCKING AMPUTATION?!?!??? came pouring out of my eyes?
And then remember how I was all, like, eff that, I’m not cutting off my cat’s damn leg. It’s her LEG! And also her front shoulder is already kinda messed up so how awful would that be of us to cut off her hind leg when her front is kinda sorta screwy?
Remember how we decided to just “wait it out” (code: I’m too chicken shit to make a decision so I’m just going to act like everything’s okay and, hopefully, everything WILL be okay)?
Well, we waited.
And LET ME TELL YOU. Sable is doing mighty fine.
How do I know, you ask?
Well, how many cats with a shattered femur do you know who can, after healing ON HER OWN for months, catch a damn mouse outside?
Yeah, she caught a mouse. She hunted. She stalked, she chased, she caught.
And then she wouldn’t let any of us (her kittens (who, by the way, are HUGE and also ENORMOUS PAINS IN THE ASS), the dogs, The Boy OR me) anywhere near her. And if we did, she’s growl and run away. With the mouse in her mouth.
Which I mean, great! I don’t really want the mouse near me, anyway, and a dead mouse in her mouth is one less live one anywhere near my casa. Which, like I said, is great! And also that shows how well she’s doing… right? Right.
Except, ew. Dead mouse.