Poor Loki! She underwent spaying last Tuesday and life hasn’t been the same since.
First of all, she terrified me with her absolute rejection of wearing the cone. Soon as I got her home from the vet’s and let her out of her cage, she violently–violently–tossed herself about like a cross between a hurricane and a tornado. No kidding. Loki ping-ponged about the room, a whirling dervish, bumping and banging into every surface, the side of the chaise, the dresser, the glass book cabinet, the wall; she bounced off the floor and ricochetted about the room, honestly I’m surprised she didn’t hit the ceiling at some point. Such a ruckus she made-all six pounds of her–I’m sure the neighbors thought the building was falling down or my apartment was coming apart. Needless to say, but I’m saying it anyway, we had a sleepless night.
This could not go on. As soon as I could catch her, I’d hold her, her heart thumping, breath coming hard, and we’d have a little talk. I talked; she glared.
Finally she realized the hood wasn’t coming off, and the next day she buried herself in the pillows on the chaise with her face pushed into the corner–the shame of it all. When she deigned to stir, she slumped about with her head hanging low, as humiliated and depressed as any cat in tarnation. When I spoke to her, I’d get a pathetic yip. She wouldn’t even meet my eyes!
I feel so bad for her. Her stitches I hope will heal quickly ’cause the doc said ten days, but maybe it won’t have to be that long. The stitches are looking good. She eats a little, drinks some water, and retires to the chaise, face against the pillows, except when she rears up on her hind legs, paws in the air, begging to be carried about on my shoulders. She’s become a total lap and shoulder kitty.
But she’ll be fine and dandy soon, back to her scampish little self. She’s going on vacation to the kitty hotel while I’m on the cruise. Her space is reserved already. She’ll get salmon treats, and lots of play time. Hope that makes up for something. Gosh darn it!