A cool cat (not!)

• By Alison
• 17 June, 2009
• 3 Comments

2009-03-07_83, originally uploaded by pinkpie.

The cat is feeling a bit fragile today. He’s padding about in slow motion so that every movement reminds you that he’s delicate. He’s really milking the whole fragile thing though – and a more appropriate attitude would be one of humble embarrassment. But he’s a cat, and that would be an impossible combination.

The reason for his delicate sighs and “oh poor me” glances is because earlier this morning we had to rescue him. Rescuing him involved me shedding quite a lot of blood and ending up looking like I had scratching posts for arms. He wasn’t up a tree or anything almost as grand – no, he had his head stuck in a watering can.

I have three watering cans in anodised metal. A big pink one, a medium sized blue one, and a tiny yellow (actually, I nicked that one from the girls fun garden set!). It’s like the three bears of watering cans. Toby finds the water in his bowl to tasteless to bother with, and prefers instead to drink out of the large watering can. I don’t think he’d ever tried the medium sized one until this morning.

He was very lucky that daughter number 2 spotted him, as when she called out to me we were about to leave the house for school. I didn’t actually believe that he was stuck when she said it, and expected him to trot away after having a drink. But that’s not the sight that greeted me!

He was with all four paws up under the can’s top, trying to wedge it off his head, and while he did this he also thrashed from side to side, making bonks and dongs alternately.

I rushed out and got him, carried him inside trying to avoid all clawage, and got a towel around him. However it wasn’t a towel, it was a terry towelling nappy, so it got his front paws but left the back ones out. He managed to make claw marks up to my elbows! He was panicking, and making a low scared meowly growl. P had arrived by that time, summoned from shaving by daughter number 2, who was in floods of tears now, and not particularly helpful.

We managed to contain the claws and press him down on the floor, holding the watering can steady. Then I stroked his fur behind his ears, pulling the skin gently with each stroke. One ear popped out, but the other one was still wedged and he was trying to push his head back in. I was very worried that I might be pressing into his neck and interfering with his breathing. He was still meowling however. I kept on at the other ear, and just when I thought I wasn’t making any difference I felt the folded skin of the ear flap coming under the edge of the tin, and then it was out. And very suddenly, so was he.

The watering can had not been empty, so a very bedraggled head was now peering at us. There wasn’t fury, it was abating fear. He wasn’t 100% sure that I was innocent of his predicament, but he became calm again and no longer struggled.

I am very glad it turned out this way though, because I hate to think what the alternative would have been! I could just see me carrying him into the vet’s office – if it came to that he’d have been in a terrible state by then.

The medium sized watering can is now on a high shelf, pending a full investigation (into some kind of guard or net over the hole!). And I have assured myself that the small one poses no threat. Not to his head, at least. And I think that he should cut out the fragile act. One look at the bandaids up my forearms tells you who REALLY bears the scars of this misadventure!