This post probably goes a long way to explain why I am not a vet. Last night I arrived home to a most unusual sight. As the cat greeted me at the door I noticed something odd. Sticking out of his, shall we say, ARSE, was a length of the red craft ribbon that I had used to wrap all my Christmas presents. His little bottom was all festive….and freaking me out. He was oblivious to the 15cm or so of festivities suddenly adorning his business end. I, however, was working on what to do about this. Dear Harrison was in no distress. He was wandering around the house chasing geckoes up the windows as is his usual nightly routine.
So like any responsible pet owner, I had a shower and wondered what to do. Should I try and pull the ribbon out? Bearing in mind that the ribbon had obviously made it through the idiot cat’s complete digestive system this grossed me out. Did I have rubber gloves? Would I be able to use my hands for eating or touching my face ever again? I couldn’t imagine so. I mean I’ve watched a lot of All Creatures Great and Small, Dr Harry and Bondi Vet but I don’t remember any Christmas themed episodes with cats that might get all scratchy when you suddenly, with great flourish, magician style , rip a length of ribbon from their behinds. So then, I decided that I would do nothing at all. If the ribbon was in his little bottom then SURELY the next time he did his business it would, according to the laws of nature and cat’s business, just pop out on its own. And if it didn’t then I might take him to the vet. Or ring my Dad. One of those two options.
So, I ignored the weird sight of the red ribbon against the grey fur for the rest of the evening, and with a little bit of guilt took myself to bed. This morning I got up and we greeted each other in our usual fashion.
Me: Hello Mr Harrikins
Harrison: *distinctly unimpressed morning stare*
And, I looked at his bottom.
No red ribbon.
And I looked in the litter box.
Gross red ribbon.
And all was well with the world.4 Comments »