DON’T PEE ON MY LEG...

and tell me it’s raining!  It’s a lot harder than you may think to pull the wool over my eyes, being a good ole’ half-Irish girl from Montreal.  Or maybe it’s the Romany part of me (passed down along my mother’s roots), which makes it harder.  Or it just could be my almost 60 years of living, 25 of those years in the male-dominated industry of specialty publishing and most of those men the best prevaricators on the planet, second only, perhaps, to many politicians

After getting absolutely nowhere with the Town of Innisfil and their contracted employee, K9 Pest Management Group Inc. which has a contract to handle Animal Control in my town, to have someone other than myself capture the little hell cat that bit me so that I wouldn't have to go through rabies shots, I knew that I was going to have to try again.  I have to say that I am so less-than-impressed with the inertia and apathetic response to my dilemma. I was further disgusted by Animal Control’s pathetic attempt to cover up their reprehensible lack of action in such a serious matter.  And that the Town Hall designate Animal Control overseer, Daniel Rodgers, who finally called me back 8 days after I left him a message, stated to me that I was supposed to call ‘Dawn’ (Animal Control) back and let her know if my ‘neighbour’ would allow a live trap to be set.  Boy, talk about misrepresentation of facts.  I never spoke to ‘Dawn’ and the woman I did speak with, Diane, wasn't sure that Animal Control could set a live trap and take the cat into quarantine; would have to check with an ubiquitous ‘someone’ and call me back, which she never did. 

I told Dan Rodgers that his offer to have the cat trapped was a day late and a dollar short and that I would take care of the problem myself.  Mysteriously, about 2.5 hours later, Brad, from Animal Control, called me and offered the same story about who I spoke to and that he was following up because I said I would call back and hadn't.  Who are they trying to kid?  Not only do I take notes when I feel there may be issues but they are hand-written notes and so, if altered, would be obvious.  Unlike, perhaps, Animal Control’s notes and/or other documentation which are probably kept in a digital file and easily edited.  Hmmm and which story makes more sense?  As Judge Judy (I just love her) would say, “If it doesn't make sense, it’s not true.”   

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THE TAKE DOWN

Four days after my rescue attempt, I tried again, this time bolstered by Priscilla, who had also been in touch with Nigel (the local volunteer cat whisperer) about the same stray.  And further bolstered by the knowledge of what I should have done differently the first time and avoid the aftermath of being bitten and scratched.  I brought along an extra-large, extra thick bath towel, willing to sacrifice it to the greater good of capturing the little hell cat, whom I now call Daisy Duke.

This Take Down went a lot better.  As Pricilla and I walked our dogs along Daisy Duke’s known territory and hide out, Pricilla shook the small plastic container of cat crunchies (or maybe they were dog crunchies? since Pricilla doesn't have a cat).  I didn't think Daisy Duke was at all fussy what the hand-out was.  Sure enough, she emerges from the wooded area, runs down the gentle slope to the shallow drainage ditch, hesitates

for a couple of seconds and with a mighty leap, clears the barely-there rainwater, jumping high as if it was a raging stream during spring run-off.  She comes running over and immediately butts up against Sofie and then makes a beeline for Pricilla’s dog, Baby.

I’m surprised that she even comes near me, given the circumstances of our last encounter and as I bend over to stroke her, she arches her back under my hand and starts to purr.  My heart goes out to this obviously once much-loved pet who seems to love people, especially those with little white dogs.

I can feel the hard ridge of her spine and my heart cracks a little more.  As my hand moves over her petite body, I feel her bony rib cage and realize that Daisy Duke has become a mere shadow of herself over the past couple of months, since I first saw her.  As the days grow shorter, she is growing thinner and more raggedy looking. 

Even after being shredded and bitten by her, I pick her up and wrap her in the towel.  Again, she is not impressed or happy with the manoeuvre and struggles to get away.  I sure am glad that the towel contains her, although only about half-way wrapped.  Also, I have on a light jacket so at least my tummy area survives Daisy Duke’s escape attempts.  She is bewildered and terribly scared and her growls and yowling warn me to be on guard.  It’s a good thing I’m already on antibiotics ‘cause if she bites me again, at least treatment is already well under way. 

As Pricilla and I walk toward the house on the corner where the lady says she’s been feeding Daisy Duke for about a year, Daisy Duke becomes even more agitated.  She almost manages to leap from my arms as she hears the voice of The Lady From The Corner House.  No love lost there.

Kathleen does not seem to be happy that Pricilla and I have landed on her porch with Daisy Duke.  She seems almost hostile.  I can’t figure that one out.  When I had spoken with her previously (before rescue attempt #1), she seemed to be concerned about the cat and said she’d been feeding her for a long time but that the cat wouldn't come into her house.  Nuh huh.  I don’t think Kathleen speaks the whole truth.

I had made arrangements with Nigel, The Cat Whisperer, to meet me in the wood shop area where Daisy Duke was known to frequent but he got held up trying to capture another stray quite a bit further up the same street.  Yep, no lack of cats here in Sandycove Acres, The New Wild West.  So here I stand on a stranger’s porch with one very pissed off (and petrified) cat in my arms.  What to do?

To Be Continued …

© 2015 Phyllis Mahon - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES FROM THIS WEBSITE.”

ALL YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT CAT BITES & MAYBE A BIT MORE

Have you ever had occasion to wonder what happens if you get bitten by a cat?  Nope, me either but since it happened to me 7 days ago, I have learned a lot not only about rabies but also about the inner workings of local politicos, Public Health, altruistic saviours and ambitious entrepreneurs.  I’ve also learned that most of the people I talk to, either know someone, or maybe it’s themselves, who’ve had a run-in with a cat.  End results of these skirmishes are not pretty for the people, some who apparently have come “THIS CLOSE” to losing their appendage ++ which suffered the bite.  Scares the bejesus out of me.

Everyone seems to have an opinion of how and what you should do after being bitten.  Heard most often, “Clean it up really well and see what happens.  If it doesn’t get red and swollen or you don’t see a red line (indicating blood poisoning) creeping up your arm to your shoulder within 24 hours or so, you should be good.”  Sounds logical and I really like the idea of NOT having to trek to the emergency room or the doctor.  Not to mention the anxiety of how much a prescription may cost or paying for parking at the hospital emergency, which would probably cost more than the medication.  Oh and I wonder how long I would have to sit in emerge and should I bring my jammies and maybe a pair of clean undies for the next day?

My friend, Lorna, gets me back to her house and administers prompt and competent first aid.  At first glance, the bite in the pad of my left thumb doesn’t look severe and I am relieved that I probably won’t have to go to the hospital.  After Lorna patches me up, she and Nyla walk Sofie and me home.  Surprisingly, I’m a bit on the shaky side and it’s good to have Lorna’s company.  We sit and have tea and talk about Puss Puss and wonder about her health.  Lorna leaves me  strict instructions to call her, no matter what the time, if my hand starts looking funny or swollen or becomes painful.  I spend most of the night online researching cat bites and rabies.  I finally stumble to bed around 4:00 a.m., after peeling the bandage off and checking for a creeping red line.  Nope, all clear, albeit still bleeding a bit and somewhat sore.  I finally fall asleep but am up after just a few hours.    

The next day I speak to Nigel, who is someone I’ve spoken with in the past about stray nuisance cats who had been tormenting my girls at my patio door when I first moved to Sandycove Acres, aka The New Wild West.  He seems to have dedicated his life to saving cats not only here in SCA but almost anywhere in the general area.  He reassures me that there hasn’t been a case of rabies in Ontario for years.  I am further relieved to hear that and make a mental note to check that out after we hang up.  I’m feeling much more optimistic until Nigel asks if I have any antibiotics in the house.  “Ummm, no”, I respond, “Why?”  “Oh it would probably be good to take some, if you have if you have any laying around “, says Nigel.  With that, I change my mind and decide to see my family doctor tout de suite.  I figured a pre-emptive course of antibiotic was the smartest thing to do. 

Well, doncha know it’s Friday – the one day of the week my doctor’s office closes at 12:00 noon.  It’s already 9:45.  Being a born optimist (not really, but I learned how) I called and explained the situation to his assistant.  She told me that since it was their early close day, the doctor was already double-booked.  And my doctor, bless him, is actually one who is pretty punctual and likes it that way.  I would have been more than happy just to go and pick up an Rx but she said she would talk to the doctor and see if he wants me to come in and would call me back, which she did pretty quickly.  Uh huh – a return call that fast usually bodes no good and yep, I have to go in and be there by 10:30. 

I lay in my supplies – a book, a bottle of water and an apple and head out, prepared for a long sojourn.  After about only 20 minutes, I was ushered into the exam room and prepared for to wait some more.   But not too long after, my doctor arrives and takes a look at the wound.  He is not impressed either with the gash or the circumstances surrounding it.  He said that it was already swollen and I would need to take a very strong antibiotic for 14 days and it was a darn good thing I had come in to see him.  Oh, and the antibiotic is very hard on the stomach.  Fun.

Cat bites are nothing to fool around with, as I came to learn from one of the stories someone told me about her brother-in-law who sustained a cat bite.  He did nothing about it except basic first-aid and apparently ended up in the hospital for 2 months, on the strongest intravenous antibiotics known to human-kind AND he came pretty damn close to having his arm amputated anyway. 

As I have learned over the course of the past 7 seven days and nights, in addition to basic first aid, which includes stopping the bleeding, cleaning the wound with soap and water, and applying an antibiotic ointment and bandage to the bite, you should call your local animal control agent, health department, and/or doctor to see if you are at risk for:

• a bacterial infection - many cats, although they don't have symptoms, have the Pasteurella multocida bacteria in their mouth.  From what I’ve researched, it will cause infections in about 80% of the cases
• tetanus - especially if it has been more than 5 years since your last tetanus shot and the cat bite is very deep or is contaminated with dirt, etc.   Luckily my tetanus shot is up-to-date, since I am such a notorious klutz and had to have one just 3 years ago for a pruning shears stabbing incident (self-inflicted), don’t ask
• rabies - Reported rabies cases in Ontario, 2011-2013, involving either cats or dogs, is higher for dogs – that’s nice to know.  Although the risk of getting rabies from a cat is fairly low, with most cases of rabies occurring in wild animals, such as raccoons, skunks, bats, and foxes, about 7 percent of rabies cases overall in Canada occur in domestic animals, including cats and dogs.

Oh joy!  Because my war wounds involve a rather nasty bite, my doctor is mandated by rules & regs to report the incident to the Public Health Department.  Since the cat is a stray and not in anyone’s custody, there’s a good chance that I may have to undergo a series of rabies shots and it's up to Public Health to make that determination.  Oy vey!

TO BE CONTINUED …

"NO GOOD DEED

goes unpunished.”  Boy, Judge Judy sure says it concisely.  I’ve heard her on numerous occasions, sharing this golden oldie, along with a couple of other sayings, which I don’t hear as often, one of which is, “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining.”  I like that one too.  I have to say she has reality nailed down pretty tightly.

What precipitates my sudden onset of cynicism and jadedness you ask?  Well, tonight I tried to save a cat.  Uh huh, a cat who obviously did not want to be saved, to which my various scratches and one rather jagged thumb puncture will attest.

Hmmm, so how did that situation evolve?  During my daily walks in SCA, oh for about the past month or so, when Sofie, The Wonder Dog and I would get to a certain area, near the Wood Shop, a little brown striped tabby would make a run for us.  At first, I was apprehensive that she (and no, I didn’t get to check that as fact), would take a swipe at Sofie and I shooed her away.  After all, they are both around the same size, at least height-wise.  Sofie’s a bit longer, I think.  If I had to choose who would emerge the victor in a confrontation, the cat would win hands down. No wonder with the shredders they have at their fingertips.

Pretty soon, Puss Puss, as I had started to think of her, would inevitably appear every time we went that way and she would stalk us for a good piece down the road, trailing us respectfully, not too far behind.  I felt honoured that she liked us enough to do that.  Being owned by three mature felines, all strays who have been rescued by a local shelter and adopted by me in two moments of insanity, I can honestly say that I understand cat behaviour more than the average joe.

A few weeks go by.  Sometimes, she doesn’t appear and I start to worry (natch!) that something, like a coyote for instance (see my earlier story, Sandycove, The New Wild West) managed to catch her napping and make a meal out of her. 

I speak to a few of the people who live in her neighbourhood and it turns out that Puss Puss seems to be known to most of them.  All of them, like me, are worried about her and the fast approaching cold, wet weather.  One man I speak with, Randy, really likes Puss Puss but says it’s up to his wife, Esther, as to whether or not she’ll get taken in by them.  He’s concerned about their upcoming annual road trip to Florida for the winter and being able to overnight with a cat in a motel.  I’m not quite sure why, they have two dogs, Chihuahuas both and they travel fine with them.  So, what’s one more?

The other night I meandered over to the Wood Shop for my weekly dose of carving and the company of two old codgers, whom I have grown rather fond of, over the past couple of years.  Both in their eighties, I feel oh so young and limber when I hang around with them.  Even with hearing aids, the one old fart doesn’t hear very well and when you talk to him, full volume is required.  Some of the conversations are rather interesting but grotty as I get to listen about prostrate problems, heart attacks, having to get up 5 or 6 times a night to pee.  Sometimes I think they don’t remember I’m there.  Oh and gotta love the special viewings of extra long, extra, extra thick and yellowed, raggedy toes nails in ancient sandals.  Gosh, can winter come soon enough to hide those suckers?    

As I get out of my car and gather my things for the trek into the Wood Shop, I see Esther striding down Lake Trout Lane and it sure looks like she’s searching for Puss Puss.  I called over to her and asked her if she was going to take Puss Puss in and give her a forever home.  She said she couldn’t because they go to Florida every year.  I still don’t get that logic. 

After carving’s finished, the two men enjoy their ‘guy’ time by sipping on really bad cups of instant coffee, black (no cream ‘cause there just wasn’t any and usually isn’t).  They always ask me if I want a cup and I always decline.  I drink instant at home but can’t stomach the thought of drinking the ink they call coffee.   I drive home and formulate a plan to help Puss Puss find a forever home.

I call a new friend of mine, Lorna, when I get home and explain about seeing Puss Puss again and ask her if she was serious about taking her in (I had filled Lorna in a few days earlier), if we could catch her.  Lorna, who has had cats in the past seems to be a bit hesitant, I think because of her dog, Nyla but concurs that Puss Puss probably won’t make it through the winter.  We agree that the capture would be attempted two nights hence and make a plan to meet around 6:00 p.m.

Life changed that evening and hasn’t been the same since.

To Be Continued …

© 2015 Phyllis Mahon - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES FROM THIS WEBSITE.”