Wednesday, 4 July 2012
In which Benjamin Bounces
And this is the story of how and why.
Both cats like to take walks with us. I think Grolly prefers it when it's just her; Benejamin prefers to walk beside us, pause and bounce onto Grolly's head, and then spring back to us. I think it's the colouring; Tigger blood runs deep. Anyway; she's not impressed and much prefers it when we leave him inside.
It was Benjamin's turn last night though, and he decided to accompany us to Brownies. Both cats usually stop when we reach the garages just past our house, but occasionally one of them will venture across the road before panicking and running back. We don't encourage the road crossing. Actually, Grolly gets halfway across the road, then panics and starts crying for help. I've had to post her back home more than once before now.
Anyway, yesterday, Benjamin decided to be more adventurous. Crossing the road, he walked to heel, cat-style. Which means, for the uninitiated, he walked between my heals and over my heels and mainly under my heels, causing an increasing amount of worry as we got closer and closer to the Big Main Road where Gotcha met his end last summer.
I was about to give in and carry him home, when a car drove past. Panicking, he ran for home; unfortunately running directly into the path of the oncoming car, hitting the wheel with an almighty thud and a crunch and a squeal and a cat bouncing along the road.
Add a seriously shaken driver, an overinterested canine witness, and two girls late for Brownies. A brief pause, no pools of blood and incredibly, he had picked himself up and raced off, so I decided to drop the girls at Brownies before going hunting.
He limped his way home, and was seriously underimpressed to be scooped up and taken to the vets for a thorough overhaul. Initial exampination showed no obvious injury other than two scuffed paws, but some creaky hips which would need X-raying in the morning.
Home then, with instructions to keep him in my room overnight in case it turned out he had done something to his diaphragm. Benjamin quite enjoyed the being shut in my bedroom bit, but was distinctly less impressed with the whole starve him from tea-time ready for anaesthetic bit. At 4 AM, when he'd moved on from licking my chin to chewing my nose, I decided his diaphragm was officially not ruptured, and banished him to the sunroom instead. It's soundproof; useful in a cat prison.
Back to the vets, who knocked him out and X-rayed him. The Little Princess is impressed about this and thinks he must be very naughty; she always sits still for X-rays and doesn't need sleepy medicine.
And then a few hours later a phone call. Hips fine, so they'd looked at his chest. Chest fine, so they'd looked at his knees and elbows. All fine, so they'd checked his feet and legs. And everything absolutely fine.
I have a feeling he's used up more than one of his nine lives though; and if you were the woman driving the grey mercedes (no it wasn't you, A!), then I'd like you to know he really is absolutely fine; apparently Benjamins bounce. He'd better not try it too often though!