I'm an amputee!!

Three days ago, I lost the last digit of my right rear leg to a vet's scalpel. I'm now a three-toed cat there.

It all began last Thursday. I got my paw wedged in between the slats on the top bunk of that double-decker bed where I normally hang out (to escape the fug from the litter trays at ground level).

I admit it: The usually cool me panicked, and yanked... and yanked. My efforts brought me blinding pain as the flesh on my last digit tore. But at least I was free.

I limped up to Aunties S and B, who look after me and my roomies. I meowed plaintively till they noticed the blood.

That moment, I started to regret sounding the alarm, for I was packed off to the vet.

I hate vets, their foul-smelling offices and what they do to moggies. I hate car rides. I yowled and spat all the way to Allpets & Aqualife Clinic in Jalan Kayu, more from fear and indignation than the pain itself.

The vet said my digit had to go. It was too badly torn to be stitched up.

Then a needle was stuck in me. A strange cloud descended over my senses in minutes. I felt peaceful and all at once, the pain and sounds and smells receded. I was put in a cage, from where I heard Auntie S calling my human. From my haze, I figured out she was telling my human what had happened, and asking for her permission to go ahead with the amputation.

Some blood tests were done - necessary because I'm an "old" cat, what the f***! - and I was left in the cage overnight. By then, I had calmed down somewhat.

I don't remember much of what happened during the operation at noon on Friday. All I know is that when I came around, my paw throbbed dully with some pain, and I had a satellite dish around my head.

Auntie S came to take me home, whereupon the vet told her that it had taken longer than expected for me to come out of being doped "because the anaesthetic tends to stick around a bit in his fat layers". Wha...at! Who's calling me F.A.T???

Anyway, I'm back at Auntie S' home. She's put me in a cage so I will be somewhat isolated from my roomies. I also have a tray covered with newspapers instead of litter to minimise chances of infection.

She has to flush my wound with saline twice a day and give me antibiotics for the next week or so. I hate taking pills, but the woman has A Way Of Persuading Me To Take Them Pills. I won't elaborate on that here. [Suffice to say, my human couldn't do it, but Auntie S... ah, the inimitable Auntie S!!]

My human came to see me today! I was so glad to see her. She whipped out her camera to take pictures of my paw, gulping a little at how it looked. (See picture.) It's not bandaged now, and the area was shaved for the op, so my bald dark red flesh, sporting some sutures was plain for her to see.

I can't see the thing myself, thanks to the satellite dish. I know she will go tell her friends that I can receive BBC radio and Class 95, just to give herself some comic relief - yeah, at my f****** expense.

Where do I go from here? Well, pretty much nowhere in the coming week, since my cage is all of one metre by a metre and a half. Frick! Auntie S told my human my fur will grow back in a month, and that she doesn't think my gait will be affected.

We'll see. So, are you sufficiently filled with pity now for this moggie? How about a little donation, huh, huh?