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Dude, who entered the frame in June 2008, is a Cat in training. Every time I go working on cars he likes to have a look, play with screws so I can’t find them, and sit on top of my legs when I’m underneath a car. Our meeting in the first instance was car - related, but sadly not so nice. At least the story has a happy ending. I will refrain from using the language I feel like using for people who drive on, leaving injured animals in their wake.
The Story:
Back in early June 2008 I was out and about on my property when I happened to go to a part of the land to which I normally don’t go: it’s just as well, as I heard a series of faint ‘meow’s coming from somewhere. I followed them, all the while prompting. Sure enough, there I found Dude, rolled up in a ball among the long grass.
My first thought was “Oh no, not another female that’s given birth”. A quick phonecall to the Vet later and I was back out with my gloves on and Crisp box in hand. It became obvious that the cat was injured, and injured badly. The trip to the Vet’s was no fun: I kept thinking that it was ‘curtains’ for this guy ( thanks to the Vet for determining that Dude is a guy! ). He looked too badly injured, and was in obvious pain.
It turned out that Dude had a broken pelvis and a very badly broken front leg. The vet was impressed with his personality: he actually purred when being examined, despite the enormous pain of his injuries. As the vet himself put it: “If he didn’t have such a personality he’d hardly be worth it ... he’s fairly banjaxed!”.
For the next six weeks Dude was in ‘solitary’. I already had two cats and he wasn’t up for much playing. His ‘enclosure’ was two sheets of drywall against a corner in the upstairs room ... which I had recently painted. Oh dear, so much for the paintwork. I think this cat actually prided himself in missing the litter tray, and he then progressed to a ‘dirty protest’ on my lovely ( newly painted, remember ) walls, using his tail.
Speaking of his tail, that got knobbled at some point too: it’s unnaturally short. One day in August I went to his enclosure to find no Dude! Sure enough, he was curled up on top of a bag of old curtains. As he was still on the mend and I was in a bad mood, I chased him around following his 3 rd. ‘escape’ that day.
I didn’t realize that he was quite so nervous, but he managed to hang off a loose panel on the kitchen ceiling which bobbed up and down during this heated re - capture attempt, and proceeded to piddle on my head. After that there was no more enclosure. Around this time it looked like he was going to lose the leg too.
The leg had the beginnings of gangrene but thankfully once out of the cast for a few days it cleared up. Thankfully he went from strength to strength and is now back to being a big Tomcat like he should be. I live in a rural and oh - so ‘religious’ part of Ireland. It never ceases to amaze me how so many people who act like holy rollers who have God’s mobile number can be such antichrists when it comes to animals.
The only problem with Dude now is that he wants to play all of the time ... and sleep on my bed! It’s impossible to hear the radio at night above his purring. He’s a real garage cat: just look at that face! Doesn’t he look like Burt Reynolds in ‘Smokey and the Bandit’? Well, maybe not but if he were a Dog he would chew number plates.
Dude, the Volvo Cat, is now safe!
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