His name is Cedar. He was brought to my office building after hours last Friday to meet me, and the poor thing had a horrible ear infection. His temporary guardian said she thought he had bad breath, but I told her that’s what an ear infection smells like. He was boarded in isolation at the vet’s Friday night and came home on Saturday. He is still isolated in the box room, though; the vet thought he might be developing a URI and wanted him kept away from the girls for a week. I have clearance for The Great Unveiling to take place on Saturday morning when I’m there to supervise.
Cedar keeps getting older. I was first told he was about 3 months old; when I saw him, he looked like 6 months; based on his dental development, the vet said 10 months.
He goes back in a week to have his ears re-checked. December 31 is his spa day, and I am going to be glad! I’ve never been exposed close-up to the smell of tomcat urine before. I’m keeping a supply of disposable litter boxes made of recycled paper on hand so that every day I can just put the whole nasty mess in a trash bag and throw it away outside. I’m going to have to watch him carefully and, I’m afraid, confine him again when I’m not there until he’s neutered. When he and the girls come face-to-face (and not just nose-to-nose), that’s when territories will get “negotiated” and I don’t want spraying to come into his mind as a tactic.
Because he’s confined in a storage room, I haven’t been able to spend much time with him. He’s been loving it, though! I put some toys in with him, but what are toys when you can climb to the top of a stack of storage cases and survey the shelves to choose the next thing to knock down?
He’s a little sweetheart, from all indications; I’ll just be glad when all the medical stuff is over and we can get settled down to being an unrestricted family.
I know I planned never to get any more cats after Penny and Kit, but there was no way I could turn away that poor, sick little boy.
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