Snootsy learns a lesson the hard way

By Patricia Wade

For the Frontiersman

A couple years ago I learned of a pet fostering program and decided I would take in a cat, and if I liked it, I’d keep it — inside the house. Living in downtown Palmer, I didn’t want a cat out roaming the busy streets.

The minute Snootsy walked in the door he owned the place. All went well until a year ago, when my cousin came to stay with me. Jan is a cat lover and had left her two felines in Portland. She missed them a great deal and soon bonded with Snootsy. As spring arrived, she wanted him to be able to enjoy the great outdoors. At first I got a cage and we packed him in and out in that heavy, awkward thing. By the end of summer Snoots had gotten a taste of freedom and there was no stopping him. He would cry and scratch at the door until I felt like flinging him outside. Once he was gone for three nights and I figured he had bit the dust, but he came back hungry, his once shiny coat thick with dust and grime.

As fall turned into winter, Snoots wasn’t hindered by the cold. He still yowled to go outside every day and night … to act like a tough alley cat, I suppose. I told him if he got hurt, do it up right and don’t come home all banged up and expect me to take him to the vet.

Did he listen?

Last week he came home limping, holding his right front leg up when he walked, like a tripod. I thought of our first cat, Lion that we had in Moose Creek when I was a kid. I don’t even know if there were vets up here back then and doubt he would have been taken to one. So, with that in mind I let Snootsy limp around for a couple days.

Last Thursday I asked my sister, Rain, to come by and take a look at the cat. My courageous and calm sis is always there for me when my kids are sick. She diagnosed Snootsy with a fever and infected leg, so we made an appointment and she held him while I drove to the vet’s, where we had to wait nearly an hour, Rain holding the sickly and very worried Snoots.

When the vet finally saw him, she said she would have to cut Snootsy’s arm open, drain it and have a drain tube temporarily installed. He would need to spend the night at her hospital and I could pick him up the following day.

My son, Alex, came with me to pick up Snootsy and my wallet was relieved of $300. We got pain meds and antibiotics, and Snoots was brought to us with his shaven leg, a white balloon-looking tube sticking out of it and some mean looking stitches for the little tough guy. But best of all was the plastic collar around his neck so he couldn’t lick that wound. Alex said if we put a light bulb in his mouth he would look like a lamp. I was thankful to have Alex’s sense of humor to offset my worry. He even gave the cat a new name, Snootzel. We chose his name, Snootsy, because we knew there were so many derivatives we could use with such a name.

As Snootzel rested in my lap as much as he possibly could, I combed his mangy, dirty coat until I eventually got four gross piles of cat fur.

Three days later I took him back to get the stitches and drain pulled out. The trembling Snoots only meowed once as the vet pulled something out. And then she removed the lampshade. When I brought Snoots home he couldn’t lick himself enough — not only that leg, but everywhere his raspy tongue could reach.

He’s back to being the sweet, inside cat I enjoy and his major form of entertainment is once again staring into the fishbowl at the betas by the hour, sometimes dipping the tips of his paws into the water. His fur coat is clean and shiny. He hasn’t even tried to race to the door. Maybe that’s because it’s so cold outside, but I think he might have learned his lesson. And in case he forgets, I’ve left that collar right by the door. If he ever tries to scramble out, I’ll put that lampshade around his neck as a reminder.

Patricia Wade is editor of The Chickaloon News.