I slept soundly last night and was bobbing about at work (Crew Member @ Trader Joe’s) when I’m bombarded with messages from my brother, “I think Taylor’s back is hurt. Im worried” and then “Please take him on ur lunch break hes in a lot of pain. If hes that bad off have him put to sleep right away” and finally, “If u cant find taylor hes under mom and dads bed”. I immediately linked it to the night before when I playfully tossed him onto the bed and he landed stiff, like an old cat, eleven. I felt bad. I found Taylor certainly sick, still, he calmly perched on my lap in the car, peering out the window, taking the turns. Dr. Carroll insisted I be more gentle, “He’s no tomboy anymore,” she chided, “Call me tomorrow.”
We took Taylor off the farm in ’96. He was a quirky little kitten, having been scared senseless by an engine’s roaring start – while he was curled up next to it! We soon found the cat possessed with unending love… a burning blinding passion, with head rubs, drool, and flesh kneading with his razor claws. He’s a true hunter, occasionally bringing in baby rabbits (Bunnykins), but more characterized by his idiosyncratic nature, exemplified in his immediate instinct to swat the moving Ouroboros, a Ball Python, whereas Molly Bing (AKA Triple Fuzz) is still walking on eggshells a half hour after spotting the snakey constrictor.
Little did I know that around 4am, Taylor had had an encounter with fox in the back yard. He did have a cut on his nose. Dad heard the fox shriek (like a woman) followed by a deathly scream recognized as Taylors. He thought the old boy was a goner.
At dinner Mom asks, “What about Molly?” in reference to the threat of a fox. We don’t have to worry about Molly – she’s a “city cat” dad calls her. She never leaves the pavement and pees in the house flowerbeds! She’s a big snotty white puff ball. She’s good at sleeping. And remaining aloof. Towards the end of the night Taylor emerges from under some piece of furniture and finds me downstairs catching the Bret Micheal’s Rock of Love Season Finale on repeat. VH1: what’ll they come up with next? Anyway, Taylor comes up head-butting my arm, not realizing there’s a snake attached to it! Boy he gave Orie (as mom is calling him) quite a scare! I put the serpent upstairs and let Taylor go on humming in my lap – stiff – but happy. He went outside for a little while, but tonight bro and I insist he’s accounted for. Tomorrow he can wait on the Groundhog who sleeps beneath the shed… or creep behind the young buck crossing our herb patch on the way to the neighbor’s field at dusk. Best he heal for now.
Taylor is still acting sick. I take him to the vet, where she tugs off a furry scab and squeezes out the infection, which has given him a fever. She takes him back to shave and clean up the bite wounds. Upon return, the vet is shocked to have extracted several cups worth of the infection, but warmly remarks that Taylor is such a good little sweetheart. That he is – I missed the little old man for just the few moments she took to clean him up! Now he is getting antibiotics and proper drainage, although seeing the wound constantly is jarring for all of us – including Taylor! At least he ain’t shy about cleaning it himself! Humming softly now.
You guys should get yourselves a foxhound!
Posted by Flex on Dec 3, 2007 8:26 PM ~
AWWW TAYLOR BEAR!!! im coming to see him!!!
and you too DUHHHHH. LOVE YA GIRLIE!!!
Posted by entity with energy on Apr 4, 2008 9:56 PM