The Heimlich Maneuver for Cats

What a way cool moment the felines and I shared early this morning!

Unable to sleep, I was serving up breakfast at 4:30 am and boiling water for lime sugar free jello (to be enhanced by a nice celery dice) -- yes, I *am* an adept multitasker, thank you for noticing.

During a pause in the action, I was reviving myself with a bowl of bran flakes, tootsies stretched toward the huge stone hearth in this, one of Marlinspike Hall's largest kitchens. We keep a fire going year round -- there always seems to be a bit of a chill here, deep deep in the Tête de Hergé.

Something made me look over to the Kitty Chow-Down Area, where I saw Dobby in dire straits. His entire body was convulsing in an attempt to breathe, his paws fighting some invisible enemy, theft of his oxygen -- all without making a sound. Marmy was sitting ramrod straight by his side, looking alarmed. (Yep, that was the extent of her maternal reaction.)

I careened over to poor Dobby, popping a wheelie on the way, hair flying in the breeze of my own speed. I scooped him up, flipped him over, screamed from the pain in my arms and shoulders, and performed a perfect (if I do say so myself) rendition of the Heimlich Maneuver for Cats.

What a sweet moment when a big glob of goo flew out of his mouth--Ptooey! and Splat! -- onto the fridge door.

Marmy went and sniffed it, sashaying her little fluffy butt.

Dobby leapt off my lap and without much of a pause, resumed eating.

Oh -- an update on the condition of Our Gimp, Uncle Kitty Big Balls. The "toe" of his right rear paw was amputated, and the vet also had to take a large bit of the metatarsal. Another abscess spontaneously opened and drained on the thigh of his left rear leg, to go along with the one on his "ankle." He has drains in each leg and a huge bandage (dry on wet) over the operated site.

The Fredster enlisted my help Friday night as aide to the Changing of the Gauze, but had several ADHD moments that made the situation somewhat less than stellar. And so, last night, per his assinine request, I did *nothing* to assist.

And so it was that soon after he began, Uncle Kitty Big Balls sank his sharp little teeth into Fred's big toe -- punctured it top and bottom, and did not extract his little dental tools cleanly, either. Unfortunately, there was almost no bleeding.

And so it was that Fred had to call the local Marcus Welby, MD, drive to the pharmacie and begin a round of Cipro... I think he was supposed to update his tetanus shot, too, but hey! I had no questions to ask, no bright ideas to share -- per his own instructions.

No, I am not happy it happened... just pissed that he has to be so stubborn, to his own detriment. Easier on him, easier on Uncle Kitty Big Balls, and a nice change of pace for me if I even do as little as tuck the little dude under my good arm so that reaching that back leg is less fraught with danger.

Poor little guy, we gave him the last of his pain medication last night -- and he is obviously still in considerable pain this morning, carefully holding that heavily bandaged leg away from all surfaces.

I'll have to recount the tale of my heroism and Dobby's near death experience to him, distract him a little. Even after the Great Toe Attack, it is clear that Uncle K. is a pacifist, a gentle soul.

Lordy, I hope that toe doesn't get infected.

Fred has joined the "BID" antibiotic dosing routine -- at noon and midnight, I am hooked up to vancomycin, Uncle Kitty Big Balls gets his liquid amoxicillen, and now, Fred, himself, has to take his twice-a-day Cipro!