A Real Catastrophe

Things were a little heated around these parts last night, and no, I’m not referring to the gnarly heat wave that finally broke. The feral meows. The teeny tiny paws of fury. And the blood. So much blood. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

Beth and I were dishing on the latest bad Lifetime movies we’d seen and confirming that we would definitely be going out for ice cream later. I was playing w/ Binxy and his nails kept getting caught in the string. Beth suggested we trim them. Horror ensued.

It started off like any other time; Binx was lounging contentedly on the bathroom floor. We used to try and hold him, but he’d get restless and start the crazy hindpaw kicks that humans are pretty defenseless against. So now we just shut the bathroom door and Beth pets him while I trim his claws. 

The front paws went smoothly and I moved on to his hindquarters. We were about ready to open the door and give him some treats when Beth saw it. The drops of blood. 

In my mind, it played out as follows:

Me: ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh is that coming from Binx?

Binx (howling in pain): meOW! meOW! meOW!

Me: What should we do? I don’t even think we have gauze. Will a band-aid stick to fur?

Binx (howling in pain): meOW! meOW! meOW!

Me: ohmygosh Binx, will you ever forgive me?

Binx (somehow conjuring Voldemort’s voice): Never.

In real life:

Me: ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh is that coming from Binx?

Binx: purring away like nothing happened

Me: What should we do? I don’t even think we have gauze. Will a band-aid stick to fur?

Binx: purring away like nothing happened

Me: ohmygosh Binx, will you ever forgive me?

Binx: starts to get restless and paws at the door b/c it’s almost dinner time

I give Binx about a million treats and call the vet, who closed at 6. I leave a semi-frantic message in hopes that there’s some after-hours emergency tech who will call me back. Then I call the vet in our old neighborhood where Beth and I took our last cat. The woman told me to take a few deep breaths b/c apparently I sounded a little freaked out. She suggests using flour to stop the bleeding and said Binxy would be just fine.

We fill the sink with water and try to stick his paw in to clean it off. That goes over about as well as Lindsay Lohan’s 30th stint in rehab. There’s no gushing blood, just a few drops when Binx is skittering across the bathroom, trying to get out and on w/ his night. I bring in a bowl of flour and we stick his wet paw in. He tolerates it and I figure we can’t keep him cooped up in the bathroom forever. 

My phone rings and the other vet calls me back, saying just about the same thing the first one did. There’s really no risk for infection, or need to bring him in. He’ll clean it himself, and unless we notice a limp or anything obvious, he’ll heal just fine.

He immediately went to work licking off the flour and licking up the blood that we couldn't. I’ve since given him about a million more treats to ensure there’s no hard feelings. So now he thinks he can sprawl all over the bed.

He can do whatever he wants after last night; that little champ did wonders for my guilt. The ice cream did a pretty good job of helping, too.