The Melville Cat Has a Cone Head
From the Melville Cat:
This is the worst week of my life.
This photo says it all.
Heather had been gone forever, in a place called America. I was starting to think she might never come back. But on Monday evening she returned. I was very happy to see her although I feigned boredom.
On Wednesday afternoon, Heather picked me up to pet me. I squirmed.
“What’s this lump on your chest?” Heather asked. She pressed a spot my chest, and it hurt. “Ow,” I told her.
Then I remembered that day last week, when I fought the mean alley cat who hides in the sewer. I always get in fights when Heather is away. It’s how I deal with my feelings of abandonment. (At least that’s what Heather says.) Anyway, I’d forgotten all about it but the alley cat did bite my chest and it felt sore afterward.
Heather put me into the plastic box and drove me to that horrible place called the vet. The vet lady prodded my chest. She and Heather talked but I didn’t listen. I find it hard to concentrate while standing on that cold metal table. After a while, we went home.
The next morning, before I had the chance to go out for my morning prowl, Heather put me in the box and drove back to the vet. She left me there and I was locked into a cage. This was very bad news indeed. I meowed but no one came to free me.
The next thing I remember, I woke up in the cage and felt horrible. My chest was sore, I couldn’t hear properly, and my ears and whiskers felt funny. I tried to move my head and something banged. I looked from one side to the other but could only see straight ahead. The cage was closing in on me!
I shook my head and something banged, whacked. A lady stood outside the cage and her lips moved. I couldn’t hear what she said. I cried and cried, then fell asleep again.
Back in the plastic box. Someone was carrying me. I howled and thrashed. I heard Heather and tried to turn my head to see her. Bang bang, whack.
We got home and Heather freed me from the box. I wobbled and swayed. Something on my neck, something blocking my ears, couldn’t see right, dizzy…What was it?! Path clear ahead but something banged on the side. Whack! The whack was loud in my ear.
The horror. I can’t explain it.
Heather says I have a cone on my head. I can’t see it myself (obviously) but Heather took pictures.
I feel even sadder than I look.
I’m still handsome though, don’t you think?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Heather tells me. “I’m so sorry, kitty. It’s protecting you.” Protecting me from what, I’d like to know. I hate this cone. Blast it to hell!
I’ve tried everything in my power to get the cone off. I shake my head. I walk backward in circles. I swipe with my paws. I roll. I jam my head under the kitchen security gate. I pierce Heather with my most mournful glares. My efforts are fruitless. I wander aimlessly, mewing and banging things. I exhaust myself and collapse into sleep.
It’s hard work living as a cone head.
But the blasted cone isn’t the only part of my predicament. It gets worse.
I’ve been imprisoned.
When I got home, after a few useless minutes of trying to remove the blasted cone, I tried to go outside. I think more clearly in the open air. But I found all my exit routes blocked. Windows and doors closed. I’m trapped.
The horror, the horror, the horror.
Sometimes Heather lets me into the garden, but only for a short time. She follows me everywhere. Then she carries me back inside.
Even with the blasted cone, I feel more peaceful outside. But I’m not allowed out for long.
My home has become a prison. Blast it to hell.
I almost escaped a couple of times. This morning I hurled myself onto the security gate, scrambled up, squeezed through the top where the bars are further apart, and landed neatly on the porch. I didn’t get far though – Heather caught me, brought me back in, and closed the big wooden door so I couldn’t climb out again.
The horror.
I can’t take much more of this. Please pray for my misery to end soon. Thank you.
Note from the editor: Smokey had an abscess on his chest that needed to be removed. He now has an ugly row of stitches and the cone prevents him from licking them. The stitches come out in two weeks, but I’m praying the cone can come off much sooner. I’m also praying Smokey gets over his abandonment issues and stops fighting with other cats.
Aww Smokey… poor thing. No more kittie fighting! I’m a human that belongs to a kittie that looks just like you! Kittie twins! ^..^
Gray cats are the best!
Yes!!! They both look like Russian Blues'
I have heard these referred to as ELizabethan collars as well. But don’t tell Smokey.
Oh dear. :-( At least it was dealt with in time. When Pixel had her little girl operation, she had stitches on her belly, but no cone, and she didn’t bother the stitches at all. Perhaps try Smokey without the cone while he’s still under close observation. Rescue Remedy works well in situations like this also. For you both :-) ♥
OH, Smokey, I’m so sorry for your bad luck. You do look pathetic. Your imprisonment will end soon. Keep your chin up! Ha Ha. Tell Heather hi from me.
Doing my best Auntie. Thanks.
Oh, poor Melville kitty. Hang in there!
Thanks Eugenia, I’m trying.
Poor Smokey! My little dog has had a cone once or twice, for the exact reasons you mentioned–stitches on his back! They itch as they heal and dogs tend to scratch the stitches out so the vet gave us a cone. I think they also make special sweater type shirts to put on dogs to avoid the awful cone, but I’m not sure if they make them for cats too.
Funny story … love that it was a take on Smokey’s experience :)
Thanks. The Melville Cat likes to tell his own stories.
Our Roland had to wear one of these cones and he HATED it!
In my time I’ve had a few critters transform into dreaded cone heads. Sucks to be you Melville Kitty! Note to Heather: cats make horrible patients, and welcome home.
Thanks Susan, from both Heather and Smokey.
best wishes for a prompt recovery to Smokey!
Hang in there, Smokey!
Heather you have a real gift for writing, when do we see your book?
Soon, I hope. I’m pondering it seriously!
Heather, This Melville Cat stuff is killing me! This is soooo funny! You have to publish a book on this cat!!
Some day, Dean. Some day…
Hate the abscesses! Poor MC (even though it was a while ago). When Boss Cat gets into it around here, she howls for back up, and I bring out one of the dogs. The other cat runs off and Boss rubs all over the dog’s legs. Not to say thank you, I think, but to acquire the terrifying dog scent.
Hahaha, that’s awesome. That first cone that the Melville Cat had was the worst. He’s had a couple more since then. Hoping for a coneless transition when we move this week.
Oh, The Move. Gosh, good luck. Is it really far away? Do you think MC will stay or try to go back to Lucky Star?
It’s literally about four blocks away. I’m fairly sure he’ll try to return to the old house but I’m going to keep him locked in the spare bedroom for a few days and then slowly let him out for supervised visits outside. Paws crossed that it works out!
That sounds like an excellent plan. Would bribery with special delicious treats work? Or perhaps there are local mice to entice?