Stay Here Witchoo? Fughettaboudit.

It is always a spectrum of emotions when it comes to colony keepers and their feral cats. Some are colony keepers not by choice but by moral dilemma. They got saddled with ferals in one way or another - either they came with the property, wandered there on their own, or got dumped by some irresponsible individual, who couldn't be bothered. They can't make themselves dispose of the cats, so they feed them and complain to whomever will listen. Others are so deeply attached that they would do anything for their babies. They make sure that they're fixed, keep their shots updated, and generally take care of the cats to the best of their abilities. Bugsy Seigel is lucky enough to have one of the latter. (Did I mention his last name could be Luciano?)

I called his colony keeper earlier in the week to let her know Bugsy's prognosis. Enraged, I think, is the best way to describe her reaction to the discovery of the bullet wounds and his overall physical condition. She fumed and promised that a trip to the vet to see what could be done about the lodged bullets would be in the near future, and that there would be no chance for a repeat episode. She said, "Well, I don't know who owned him before, or who dropped him, but I know who he belongs to now, and he's stayin' in the house with me!"  I personally don't know how Bugsy is going to feel about losing his outdoor hunting ground, but I have a feeling he's not going to argue about access to the couch and air conditioning. He's no fool. Now he'll be able to watch Sopranos reruns and wonder why he didn't think of that first.

It really wasn't much effort to get him into the carrier this afternoon. I showed him his favorite bag of treats and made a trail from his tower to the cat carrier. Bugsy followed them, and while he wasn't crazy about the thought of being in a small box, he didn't put up much fuss. He knew he was going home. There's really no sense in fighting when you're getting what you want.

When he got inside his new home, he ambled confidently into the bedroom to greet the master of the house. His new Godfather scooped him up and told him that he'd be staying with them. I was somewhat surprised that Bugsy not only allowed this but rested his head on the man's shoulder. As I said, this cat's no fool, and as the great gangster himself said, “Everybody deserves a fresh start every once in a while.”

Someone Made Him an Offer He Couldn't Refuse

I spent part of this evening with the gangster still residing in my dining room. My guess that he's pretty hard core was on the money. The cat is riddled with bullets from what is likely a .22. My opinion of human beings continues to sink. My theory is that he had some long and unpleasant discussions with the neighbor's cat. Or dog. Or given the size and nature of the cat, livestock. He's not one for small potatoes.

Whoever trumped his arguments left their remnants in his shoulders and hips, and I think, one at the base of his tail. He's lucky that nothing shattered. Perhaps Bugsy was not the right gangster, and his last name is actually Luciano. Whatever it is, he's not going to tell me. I'm sure the Witness Protection Program has this guy on speed dial.

What I am not sure of is what to do about the bullets. I suppose they could stay there. I am fairly certain he wouldn't be the first feral cat to carry this kind of baggage. His wounds are beginning to heal. No bones have been obviously broken, and the cat, for the most part, is intact. He and I have worked and reworked the contract on touching, and I have been able to brush away enough scabs to reform a cat his size, and remove many, many ticks, all for payments of wet cat food, minced beef, and salmon flavored cat treats. He probably needs a Lyme test, which is doable. Surgery to remove all of his little hitch hikers is not - at least, not for the time being. We simply cannot afford it and we are too new to have a good enough relationship with a vet practice who would let us make payments. All of our spay/neuter surgeries come from the good people at CASPCA. It is a dilemma, to be sure.

For now, he continues to convalesce. He is in pain and it shows when you touch any of the offending spots. He flinches, yowls, and bares his teeth in a way that brooks no argument. I don't know if he will remain this way, or eventually if scar tissue will form around the metal. I just don't know, and I will have to do some research and make some phone calls to find out.

Bugsy Siegl in an Overcoat

I had one tube of feline Revolution left today, and I just put it on a very large male tom, who has enough ticks to start his own blood bank. I'm not sure if he has mites, but if he has ticks, I know he has fleas. He's also got something that looks like marbles on his side and it pains him to be picked up. Yes, I picked him up. No, don't try this at home. It's generally a good way to need to go to the blood bank yourself. In this case, he's ill enough that he let me, and hurt enough that the neighbors may think I'm sacrificing a pig.

He's an interesting fellow. He's got a long scratch across his face, and enough old  - and new - wounds that I'm sure he's been fighting in the streets for quite awhile. He's pompous and charismatic, and reminds me Bugsy Siegel. He's probably just as crazy. I feel the need to add that he also appears to be dyslexic, and I know this because he mixed his water (which was in frame, so it was impressive) with his clay litter and made mortar, in which he promptly bathed. I had to explain to him that the mobster gives the cement overcoat to some OTHER unsuspecting sucker to take a bath in. And this is why I lifted him: to change the whole bottom of the cage, and to wipe the mortar off of him. He attempted to explain to me that I was not going to wipe him off. I showed him that I had a can of Fancy Feast, and all of a sudden, he was willing to compromise. I was able to get his face, his right side, and his tail while he ate. He then told me that I was not going to wash the left side, and I agreed with him. I got the worst of it - he can do the rest himself. Or he can leave it there. Who am I to argue with a cat who has paws big enough to carry a Tommy gun?

The real question remains, what to do. He's ill, and it's probably something serious. He is presently in a cat tower that I reserve for cats who need to stay together, kittens or long term patients.  He may be a long term patient. I scheduled a surgery with Dr. Beichel at CASPCA this morning to go ahead and get him neutered on Friday, and I'm hoping that she'll be able to check him over while he's under and therefore not able to take out her eyes with his very filthy and somewhat misshapen claws. Or his Tommy gun. Whichever.

Right now, my border collie, Bristol, is sitting beside the cage, and he seems amiable to her presence. She has an interesting way with feral cats, when she's not trying to herd them or steal their food. They often tend to be tolerant of her desire to spend time with them. In this case, I have no idea what they're chatting about, but if she starts wearing a Fedora or toting a violin case, I'll have a good idea.