He’s knows it’s forbidden, but he can’t help himself
Originally uploaded by meganinmunich.
By the time Lil’ Olli went to his new home, Fergus had completely flipped on his opinion of the little guy. He went from constantly trying to swallow his head to playing with him and more often licking him like a steak lollipop, crooning and cooing to him the whole time.
Yes sir, he was loving having himself a boy toy to play with. But now he has learned that forbidden fruit, once taken, has consequences.
I’d already had a few suspicions that Fergus had acquired souvenirs from the little guy’s sojourn with us. So when Fergus managed, on our second day back, to catch himself by the hind leg while performing Stunning Feats of Acrobatic Genius (SFAG) off the couch, wrenching it in the wrong direction and sending him hobbling and screaming into the bedroom to hide from the Evil-Couch-That-Tried-to-KILL-Him, I took the opportunity to follow up those suspicions at the vet’s office.
Full Disclosure: Now when Fergus performed his SFAG, before he even finished his first scream I was ordering Oliver to call the emergency number for the vet, we were taking him in. It was 9:30 at night and we were in the middle of preparing a really nice dinner at home. It took a small yelling matching and a very exasperated Oliver to convince me to wait, even a nanosecond before bundling the cat in the car and zooming off. As far as I was concerned, this was the first time he’d ever experienced real pain and his reaction was awful, there was no way I was going to watch this unfold. He needed a morphine drip and x-rays, STAT.
Oliver managed to talk me down and after the initial shock wore off (for him and us) Fergus did start to put weight on the leg and stop screaming. Gradually he calmed down, walked in a circle and found a safe, comfortable spot under the covers and curled up.
Score one for Oliver. We were still going to the vet, just during daylight hours like normal, non-overprotective pet owners.
The fact that just before we went to the vet, I pulled a tube, seemingly out of nowhere, and scooped up a stool sample for testing did earn me a telling look from him. He said nothing, but I could read: ‘Overprotective’ and ‘Ridiculous’ on his forehead. Still, he decided to humor me.
Fergus’ SFAG earned him a very sore hip and sprained tendons but no breaks needing the major surgery I’d already paid for out of our savings in my head. Yesterday the results came back from his stool sample.
Score one for me, for being right. Solving the mystery of his dashingly trim figure and refreshingly not-so-picky appetite: Fergus has worms again.
Looking at the photographic evidence of his antics with Lil’ Olli, one doesn’t have to be a genius to wonder where they might have come from.
(for a play by play of the action, click here)