Right before we go to leave this morning, Eric notices that Feina is limping. She's not really liking us to touch her back paw. Well, I have the more flexible work schedule, so I drop Eric off and take Feina to a vet we found online, figuring I'd take her in, get whatever meds or whathaveyou they gave her, drop her at home, and go in to work late. The clinic was walk-in only, so we didn't have to worry about making an appointment. I say that I took her to the vet so casually, but it involved a twenty-minute chase around the apartment as she proved that, even with a gimpy leg, she is freakishly fast and limber when she wants to get away.
We get to the vet, and about an hour later we are taken back. I had to disassemble the crate to get her out of it, and had to help the vet tech wrap her in one of Eric's sweatshirts (that I'd thrown in the crate to help her calm down) so she could take Feina back to be weighed. Taking her out of the crate was when we noticed that she was bleeding. The vet herself comes back about ten minutes later, gives her a full check-up, and then looks at her leg.
You know that little fleshy bump on the back of a cat's back leg, above their paw and below their knee? Yeah, that bump was cut open. When I saw it, I couldn't believe that the Fuzz was being so calm, considering. The vet said that it looked like whatever had cut her had gotten the muscle a little bit, too, and possibly a tendon. She put her on the ground so she could see her move, to see if she was putting any weight at all on the paw. Feina immediately ran under the chair, of course, but she was still putting weight on the paw, which was good. The vet said that she wanted to stitch her up, because it was so deep, and she didn't want to risk it getting infected or the cut getting worse. I, of course, told her to do what she needed to do - when it comes to the cats, I'm not going to go the cheap route regarding their health. She left to get an estimate, and then again for the waivers and all that fun stuff. Feina, meanwhile was trying to hide as much of herself as she could, and managed to get under a little chest of drawers in the room right before the surgical tech came in to take her back. We had to move the furniture, and she, of course, wiggled her way out of my arms and went under a chair instead, but eventually the tech got her taken back. I called Eric, and that's when I broke down a little bit - she just seemed so scared.
I had to wait around for awhile, and I realized that there really wasn't any point in going into work - by the time I made it to the office, I'd have to turn around and pick her up. I ended up killing time at the mall (the vet clinic shares a parking lot with the Alderwood Mall), and talking to my mother and Eric on the phone some more.
I picked her up, as she did just fine with the surgery, and went to pick up Eric. I got stuck on the wrong side of the right exit, and so had a nice little "I'm lost!" panic attack, before I finally made it to Eric's office. He spent the ride home with Feina's carrier in his lap, talking to her and stroking her through the cage door. She was happy to have him.
We made it home, and there was a note on the door. The apartment complex is inspecting the apartment on Thursday. This is the straw that broke the camel's back. Why? Well, to be completely blunt, Eric and I are lazy slobs. Anyone who's come to our apartment knows that it is a wreck, a complete sty. It's no wonder Feina hurt herself on something, really. So the fact that people are going to be inspecting the place? Yeah, complete panic breakdown. Eric managed to get me fairly calmed down, and we did a good chunk of work tonight (there's carpet in the living room again! Who knew?), and Gahan and Sammy are helping us tomorrow during the day/after work. I'm also going to be calling the apartment manager tomorrow and letting them know that we have an injured cat here, and it would be best not to have strangers roaming around while we're not there, and can we please reschedule for two weeks from now (when her stitches should be dissolved)? Here's hoping.
On that note, I'm going to try to get some sleep, and not think about the fact that calling out today may be one of the final nails in the coffin of my chances of getting hired as a full-time employee. Who knows - the way the guy at my temp agency sounded when I called him (as I'm supposed to), I may not be continuing with them, either, once my contract is up. Wouldn't that be special?