So there I was, playing WoW last night, just chilling in those last hours of freedom that we call the weekend, when the sound of a cat fight permeates the air. Initially, I dismiss the noise, likely considering it a sound from the game I played. But in a moment, reality sets in: the fight is in our yard, and our cat is outside. I threw off my blanket and dashed outside, yelling to my husband to turn on the lights as I started to loudly clap my hands. I knew our cat wouldn’t hear it, the deaf angel, but I prayed it would spook the other cat. It was dark. Our cat is black, and so was the other one. A black tornado of fur and claws, darkening the night, was all I could really see, even with the deck light on. (Note to self: Get lights that can light up the yard better).
I was in luck. My approach was heard and the interloper tried to sprint away, with Grim following close behind. He wasn’t about to let another cat in HIS yard go unpunished. This was the ultimate offense.
The strange cat dashed into the dark corner by the shed, scrambling up the fence-a feat that Grim is not spry enough to accomplish anymore-and perching atop it. To rest or to taunt, I did not know nor care. I shouted and clapped my hands again, sending the trespasser over the fence for good. The unknown cat gone, I could tend to my own.
Kneeling down, I cautiously put a hand out, trying to coax Grim out of the pitch black corner he had chased the other cat to. I could hear a rustle in the leaves that blanketed the corner, but my eyes could not penetrate the darkness.
“Is Grim there?” My husband called from the deck, where he stood anxiously in his socks, fly swatter at the ready. So focused on the cats, I hadn’t even really noticed him come outside after my rushed cry for light.
“I think so,” I answered, mostly sure that our cat was huddled in the leaves before me. It hadn’t been him on the fence, after all.
Placing my hand on Grim, I carefully stroked him, letting him know he was OK, and that it was me. I cautiously started to pick him up only to hear a growl emanate from low in his throat. Concerned, worried that I hurt him, I released my grip and pet him once more before he started to slink away, moving into the path where the porch light spilled. Seeing him move with relative ease, I felt assured that any injuries he may have were minor and picked him up again, this time ignoring the low, brief growl in his throat.
“I think that’s enough time outside tonight.” I tell him, cradling the big baby as my husband and I go back inside and place him on the floor, in the light, for a damage inspection.
A small scratch above his eye, but touching his eye. Good.
And one claw, torn completely off. Ouch.
So we cart the poor cat to the bathroom, and I do a quick Google search for what to do (FYI, apparently you should NOT use hydrogen peroxide on a cat. I don’t know why, but this is why you look things up first.) Turns out there isn’t much you can do, other than try to prevent the cat from licking it and otherwise keeping it clean.
It’s gonna be a couple days before he is allowed out again, and I guarantee that will be chafing by the time I return from work today.
Flights of Fancy 