Comeuppance pt. 2

Following on from Psycho Cat’s fun events on Monday night, he didn’t go out at all after dark last night. He’s OK going out in daylight, but whatever happened on Monday has definitely shaken the little git up a bit.

I don’t know if another cat has already marked our garden as it’s territory – in two months of being up at the place on a regular basis, I’ve never even seen another cat- but if so then we’re going to have battle royal at some point. As it is, though, it could equally have been something non-cat that had a go at him – whatever it was, it certainly scared the little sod. Which, in my opinion, is no bad thing – the psychotic bugger needed some humility battered into him at some point.

Comeuppance

Conventional wisdom dictates that when you move, if you have a cat you should spend at least a week, and preferably a fortnight with the cat confined to the house, so that it learns its new environment before being let out into the world, so that it knows where to come back to.

In our house, conventional wisdom takes a back-seat to sanity.

Last night, following two nights of continuous whining and yowling from Psycho Cat wanting to go out, we let him out. Well, I opened a window for him. He’s already been out for a couple of short forays into the garden (again, due to perpetual whining/yowling about wanting to be OUT.) – the forays were cut short due to huge dollops of rain/wind, which he wasn’t keen on.

Anyway, within minutes, there came the most godawful yowling from outside. My first thought was that Psycho Cat had jumped from the window onto the patio below, done something stupid, and broken a leg. That’s how bad the yowling was. Definite ‘cat in pain’. (The second thought was ‘shit, it’s half eleven on a Bank Holiday Monday, where the fuck are we going to find a vet’ and the third was ‘If he’s broken his leg, how the hell are we going to get him into his cage when he’s in pain? I’m not carrying the psychotic little shit in a blanket’) The noise continued while I got dressed to go outside and see what the hell was going on. (“got dressed” in this instance meant ‘put on trousers, t-shirt and boots’- which is probably more of a mental image than you needed.)

I got outside- still with the yowls- and hunted around. Turned out, Psycho Cat was hiding under the oil tank. When he decided it was ‘safe’, he dashed out, across the patio, and up through the still-open window. Filthy, of course. Herself closed up the windows and doors so he couldn’t get out again, and I had a look round the garden to see if anything else was visible. There were a couple of significant clumps of white fur around the place, but nothing else visible.

Going back inside, Psycho Cat was OK, but most definitely nervous and shaken up. Something had had a go at him, though, for sure. He’s had a couple of bites on his sides, and both front legs/paws have some damage to them – one was bleeding a bit, and he’s being delicate around the other. He’s OK in general, and we’ll keep an eye on the bites over the next few days.

As yet, we still don’t know what happened. We didn’t hear the noise of another cat at all, so it may have been something non-feline that had him. We’ve seen stoats in the vicinity (who could, I suppose, have seen him as a big white rabbit) and I’m quite certain there are foxes about, but I would have thought that a fox would’ve done more damage. And of course, it still could’ve been another cat- just one we didn’t hear. (Although usually you hear cats doing the territorial yowly thing before conflict actually happens) Whatever it was, though, it was bloody fierce. It kicked the crap out of a cat not known for being frightened of anything, and left him cowering under the oil tank.

Oh, and he didn’t leave the bed for the rest of the night, slept safe and warm between Herself and I.

Conspiracy Revisited

Thankfully, last night both animals slept through. No hassles at all.

Of course, if only one of them had been a pain in the arse, I’d perhaps be less convinced that they’re acting together to deprive me of sleep. Now it just looks planned…

Conspiracy

There are times when I absolutely hate our animals. This weekend has been one of those times.

During the day, we’ve been up at the house working – Hound was with us for half of Saturday before coming home, and all of Sunday. Yet still at 5am each morning she’s started barking and being a pain in the arse until I’ve had to get up to find out what her problem is. Each time, it’s nothing. In fact, the only thing I can think of is that because of the conservatory on the house, the dawn chorus sounds really loud when I go into the living room, and maybe she’s barking at that.

However, with Psycho Cat it’s just that he’s a pain in the arse. He’s decided that he now needs to go back outside at about 4am, and because this place doesn’t have a cat-flap (and oh, man is that high on the purchase list for the new place!) he just sits and yells until I wake up to let him out. At 4am. Without fail.

About the only positive side is that if I simply strangle either of them, the odds are I won’t go to jail for it…

Shaved

Psycho Cat went in to the vets today – over the last couple of weeks his fur had been getting increasingly matted and his normally white fur was rapidly going grey. So yes, it was time for him to get his annual shave.

Even with a new vet, they still wouldn’t do what I really want, which is to shave the mucky little sod like a poodle – but he’s definitely been tidied up by them.

However, because he’s also such a psychotic little shit, he has to have a general anaesthetic, and now he’s home he’s like a bear with a sore head. Well, a very violent and grumpy bear with a sore head. He’s emphatically unhappy, and Hound is treading very carefully.

He’s come out of it all OK, though – it’s just he’s now very patchy…