Cat Fight

Hunter is usually a total sweetie and doesn't generally roam too far but when he encounters other neighborhood cats or they otherwise enter his territory - our yard, which is not big but two city lots so about 100 feet from the street to the alley - he goes ballistic. Feline adrenaline or something...

Last Friday about 9 pm I heard the familiar screetch of a cat fight and looked out to see Hunter and another black cat, that lives about a block away but is not often around, spiraling around and around Tasmanian Devil style under the street lamp. I rushed out and as I approached them the other cat took off. Yet Hunter, still amped up on the kitty equivalent of Red Bull came after my leg. Not coming after me really but just blindly attacking anything in the rush. Having seen it before (more on that later) I just backed up, held off an onrushing pickup truck and gave Hunter some space to run home. Which he promptly did.

Over the weekend he seemed fine although he had something hard on his neck. I wasn't sure if it was a claw from the other cat or a clot of fur from a wound. A friend asked, when telling him about the encounter, "Did Hunter win the fight."

"I think so," I replied unconvincingly. It seems that he did but with a claw stuck in your throat it sort of throws the equation off. How does the other cat determine if it won? Stick your enemy with a claw. Impressive, indeed. But at the expense of the claw? Too close to call.

By Monday morning I figured I'd better have it looked at. I already had an appointment for 1:30 on Tuesday but I decided to take him in Monday afternoon and leave him at the Vet so they could squeeze him in as soon as possible. Good thing. Turns out he had an 103+ temp and quite the abscess. No claw, just a bad bite. They kept him overnight, only the 2nd time he's ever had to stay over at the Vet (more on the first time later), Poor Guy. Of course Pika was ALL freaked out all night wondering where his brother was. He's been thinking he's next ever since.

But alas, Hunter is right back to his usual self; wanting to go outside, getting in the way at my desk looking for attention, following me every time I go into the bathroom. Oh ya, half his face and throat is shaved down with a big ole' gobbie in the middle. I have to give him meds every day. Just getting pills down is an adventure and hot pack/medicate the wound. All of which he protests vigorously.