Tubbs McFatty and the Pink Paint: Part 2

As I made my way to see what the "pink paint" really was and where it was, I felt like one of those people who enter a dark house in a horror movie and creep down the hallway without turning the lights on.  Sure enough, there were paw prints everywhere, and it wasn't paint, much to my daughters' confusion.  My thoughts swirled, and I instantly realized what had happened.  Now what was I going to do?  When she was getting out of the closet in a hurried fashion (because I yelled at her and now I felt bad), Bella had managed to knock the fish vase off of the shelf, and it more or less exploded between the door and the wall.  She then landed on the shards of broken glass, cut her foot badly, and ran around the house trying to find the best "cozy spot" to get comfortable.  Blood was everywhere. 

I need to pause here and let you know that I'm not real strong with emergencies.  Particularly if blood is involved.  Although, this was before I was CPR/First Aid certified, so I like to think I've improved.  Still, if you have an emergency, I've got about 9 people I'll send to you first.  :)
Somehow, within 5 minutes, I had both girls and a hemorrhaging cat in the car.  I managed to get the girls to early morning care, then I walked into devotions to let my coworkers know why I had blood all over me and asked for help covering my class while I went to the vet.  (I work at the Christian school my girls attend, but more on that later.)  I didn't know exactly what I was going to do, but in the words of a friend of mine, I knew "it wasn't going to end well."  I tried to talk Bella out of dying, and called the vet she used to go to so they could tell me where to take her. 

At 8:10 am, the first customers of the day walked into Needham Animal Hospital, looking every bit as distressed as we felt.  We were quickly taken to an exam room and I explained what happened.  I told the tech that things would go better for everyone if they allowed me to assist since Bella wasn't what one would call "cooperative".  I told him she wouldn't bite and being declawed, couldn't scratch, and urged him to be prepared for the blood-curdling screams, shrieking, and other general nonsense that she'd use to appear fierce.  As he and I were preparing to assess the wound, sure enough, it started.  We looked at each other and at her, but we could handle it.  If there was an award for feline dramatic flair, she would win.  I SO called it.  However, what I wasn't prepared for was the vet bursting through the door and yelling, "Drop it!  Let it go!  You don't know what it'll do!!  Let it GO!" 

Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the floor, the tech was halfway out of the door, and the bleeding cat with the sliced foot was under a chair.  Not sure what had just happened, I coaxed her back out, realized I hadn't sufficiently warned the rest of the staff-- and greater Wilmington-- and he went for back up.  He was gone for a few minutes, then came back with the vet who had yelled at us, and she explained the unfortunate mixup.  A couple had brought in a cat that had been hit by a car, and when she heard the scream, she thought it was that cat.  Not knowing if it had rabies, she wanted to warn us that "our" cat could be dangerous.  Turns out, that cat sadly died right after it got there, so the screamer was none other than mine.  And I knew, we all did, that to get anywhere with her, she'd have to go in the aquarium -- a fish tank with a lid connected to a tube of whatever gas that anesthetizes cats -- and then have surgery.  They assured me they'd take great care of her (they did!) and I told her I'd see her in a little while.

I left, changed, and went to work.  The rest of the day was uneventful, and after work, the girls and I went to pick up our patient.  The injury to her foot had been pretty severe, and although they were able to repair the tendon, they said one of her toes might stick out some.  She did well during her surgery, and I took home a tired, hungry, rather subdued cat.  As I cleaned up the mess that afternoon, I realized that I had done what I never would've thought I could do.  If someone would've told me I'd have to do all that, and do it alone, I'd laugh.  Actually, I wouldn't laugh.  I'd say no.  Then worry a little.  But the truth is, God was with me each step.  He provided what I needed as I needed it.  She healed fine, and her gimpy toe doesn't cause her a bit of trouble.  I don't keep glass sculptures of any kind in the closet anymore, and although I hate that she got hurt, I'm glad I was able to be brave for her, even for a little bit.  There are so many things about Bella and all my pets that I love, enough to convince anyone I'm "one of those people", but I won't write them all here.  I will just say that I think pets teach us and show us things we wouldn't otherwise see and learn.  Occasionally, they write in "paint".

Bella "supervising" the writing of this post.