Attack cat

dddragon posts today that it is her cat Chatham's 18th birthday. Chatham was our first grandcat. Actually our first grandpet of any kind. Makes sense because dddragon is our oldest child. She will tell you just the nice things about this cat. But I have my own story.

Last year when they were preparing to go on vacation, ddd's husband (she refers to him as DH on her blog. Aral had made his pez Nod Donald Duck Pez I think. Ummmm. Maybe the DH stands for "dumb husband." I don't want to be caught calling one of my sons-in-law dumb, so I'll call him Nod.) ANYHOO--where was I?

Okay. Last year Nod decided that he was not going to go with ddd and the grandtwins on vacation because Chatham was taking medicine for his liver (I think maybe he's a closet drinker. The cat I mean, not the son-in-law.) and only Nod was able to get this medicine down the cat's throat. Normally I take care of the cats whenever their family is away.

I said, "Hey, I can do this. Go with the family!" So, I was invited to their house to prove that I could in fact get these pills into Chatham. I went over there, grabbed the cat by the back of his neck, pulled his head back, put the pill down his throat, and that was that. Nod was impressed. No problem, he can go on vacation.

So, each day while they're away I go over, get the pill into Chatham, hang around for an hour 'cause he can't eat until an hour after the pill. Then I feed the cats and hang around to keep Salem from eating Chatham's food. Salem is a pig. Well, Salem is a cat, but you know what I mean.

I go back at night of course to feed them, scoop the poop---my very favorite thing, and just in general give them "turn down" service at the old hotel. These are pampered kitties.

Now, Chatham is getting a little bit more difficult to locate each morning. He hides here and there, often under a bed, but lots of different places, trying to avoid the bitch with the pill. He can't actually run...too old and too sick. He's a crafty critter, but I always catch him and give him the pill.

By day four he starts hissing at me frequently and fiercely. That cat.

By day five when I arrive there's a shotgun in a package on the front porch. That darn cat has logged onto the Internet and ordered a gun to use to take me out. HA! He can't unlock the door to get at the gun, so his plans are spoiled. I call UPS and send the weapon back. Hope ddd and Nod got a refund for it. Forgot to ask.

I'm still getting that pill down him every morning. Day six, I check the cookies on the cat computer (told you they're spoiled) and find that Chatham has contacted a hit man to get me. HA again! I'll just be careful. Park down the street, sneak in through the back. Like that.

Guess the cat had had enough. Next morning when I looked for him, he's right out in the open. Hmmm... I know something's up. I'm cautious. Too cautious in fact. I'm a little tentative when I give the pill, and he manages to spit it out. I grab it, and when I do, the little beastie bites my hand. A deep piercing hook of a bite. I had to pull his tooth out of my hand. But I get that pill in. So there! Take that!

I wash the hand. I mean, it's just a cat bite for gosh sakes. I must have been bitten by a cat before. But no, wait, it's swelling up. Looking funny. Can't call the doctor for a cat bite! Too silly. Too trivial. Next day, the hand and arm are a lot of different, interesting colors, and really, really BIG. It's going up my arm. So I call the doctor's office, scared that they would laugh in my ear. No, they don't laugh. "GET IN HERE," they say.

Turns out that lots of people end up on intravenous antibiotics for cat bits. Not me. I'm tough enough for a cat. I just have to take antibiotics for 10 days.

Happy birthday Chatham...and many more.