We had a small crisis of the feline persuasion tonight. It all started about a week ago, when Tucker began walking with a limp. Upon further inspection (a task made difficult by an uncooperative kitty) it was determined that he had a cut on the pad of his foot.
Amid hissing and growling, we were able to get antibiotic ointment on his foot a couple of times, and the limp seemed to be getting better. But today one of the neighborhood girls, who's father is an equine vet, said she thought that Tucker's foot looked infected. She asked her dad if he could look at it, and he agreed.
I'm not exactly sure how we got from a vet coming to look at a cat's paw to six children and four adults trying to get an uncooperative cat into a pet carrier, but it didn't end well.
The cat got away, but not before showering me with his displeasure. My precariously stacked and as-yet-uninstalled cabinets dominoed over into the shelves, sending boxes flying hither and yon in a garage that is already a tremendous embarrassment to me. And with the cat nowhere to be seen and unlikely to return for a while, both girls ended up in tears.
I took them to Wal-Mart and taught them the healing power of ice cream.
Mad Cat Update: Tucker was in the garage this morning, although he wasn't too happy to see me. Perhaps all is not lost.
Mad Cat Update 2: Tucker came to visit the girls after school. He even let me pet him. All seems to be forgiven, and I am of the firm opinion that there is no infection. So there.