curfew

The local council has a cat curfew: in by dusk, stay in till dawn. I observe it, but my good woman scoffs at it. I don’t want the cat killing baby possums. Last night is balmy and the cat wants to stay out. I haul him in at nine thirty.

Later my good woman comes to comfort me and the cat kicks up a ruckus about being indoors. My good woman tells me he will do harm; let him out. I open the door and he bolts. He doesn’t return when I go to bed. More surprising is that he’s not baying at the door for food when I wake at five. No sign of him at five thirty when I’m leave for Shepparton either.

I’m attending the second breakfast meeting of an ineffective local community response to youth suicide group. I’m not local, have nothing to contribute. I’m promoting the MM workshop I’ll present here in late March. After the meeting I go to another meeting at a secondary college, then it’s a two and a half hour drive back to Croydon.

I ditch the hire car at two in the afternoon, have to leave for the airport and Perth at four. I unpack one set of bags (Shep) and pack a different set (Perth).

Outside the cat lies in the back garden in the sun. I’m relieved to see him. He doesn’t get up to greet me. Later he limps up the four stairs to the back door, front driver’s side leg dangling. He disappears inside. I look for him, find him in a cat castle in the bike room. He’s gone in head first, can’t get out with a useless front leg. Carefully I upend the castle and he slithers out onto the floor.

He goes straight to the dog bed in the other front room, lies down. I suspect a broken leg. He lets me examine it, purrs like a lawnmower. I jump on the interweb, consult Dr Google. Cat’s have high pain thresholds, carry on with broken legs like nothing’s happened unless the bone is poking sideways through broken skin.

He chooses his moment well. Could he be more inopportune? I poke and prod him, searching for internal injuries, other discomfort or pain. Nothing. He just keeps purring. I feed him kangaroo mince and he eats, comfort and pet him, explain that I can’t stay: I must catch the plane to Perth.

What to do? I mosey round to unit 2, inform Joyce, ask her to keep an eye on him when she feeds him. I give her my good woman’s home and mobile numbers, tell her to call my good woman if the cat deteriorates. If he ends up with a permanent limp, so be it.

Rock on.