Needless to say I was a bundle of worry when I discovered the lump on Saturday a week ago. I then had to wait until Thursday to take Tristan to the vets' because rain was on the way and Graeme had to get the wheat harvested before the rain spoiled the wheat. I spent each and every day with Tristan on my lap delicately feeling the lump from time to time and trying to diagnose the problem myself. With no medical training, but lots of experience with sick and injured animals, I got nowhere fast and my brain kept cycling back to cancer. I reviewed other possibilities of course but my beloved ginger fellow is 15 years old and cancer kept coming to my thoughts. Since Tristan has achieved old age he goes outside less and less and hadn't been outside for about a week. I couldn't see how he could develop an abscess without the help of one of the many feral cats who travel through our farm.
Thursday arrived and Tristan was manhandled into a new, roomy, soft sided cat carrier with a soft towel for him to snuggle into. Manhandling (or womanhanding is the more correct term - Graeme is never keen on putting cats or ferrets into carriers) was necessary because Tristan is decidedly anti-cat carrier - even new, roomier and softer cat carriers. Once he was in Tristan didn't take things lying down. He complained bitterly when first placed in the car and, when loud protests got him nowhere, he decided pathetic little mews would be more effective. He was right. His little pleas to be freed from this terrifying place tugged at my heartstrings. So much so that when we finally arrived at the vets' I opened the top zip and put my hand in to offer comfort. Tristan saw his chance and shot out of the top of the carrier. I deftly caught him (years of experience with caged pets has made my reaction time rather speedy) and sat him on my lap rather than undergo the sure to be embarrassing attempts to return him to the carrier.
Tristan was happy, or at least happier, to sit on my lap and ignore these new, decidedly sinister smelling surroundings. He actually managed a purr and won the heart of the receptionist by snuggling down on my lap and enjoying pats, back rubs and ear scratches. Tristan was in a mellow mood by the time the vet came to fetch us. He politely rubbed his head against Clayton's hand and a firm friendship was building nicely.
Clayton agreed that at 15 cancer was on the cards so it was a relief when Tristan proved to have a temperature. I've never been so happy to have a pet run a temperature before. I told Tristan this was good news, but his mellow mood had soured as soon as the thermometer was inserted. A few scruffs and pats later and Tristan forgave the indignity only to find that a sharp needle had been stuck into his already uncomfortable lump. When Clayton withdrew pus both Clayton and I celebrated - Tristan not so much. An abscess was diagnosed and after a goodbye to Tristan and a warning to Clayton that if Tristan presented his gorgeous white tummy for a rub to leave it alone - it's a trap! Tristan left with Clayton bound for surgery.
My next round of worries centred on a 15 year old, slightly overweight ginger fellow undergoing general anaesthetic. I've seen enough vet shows to know how often things don't turn out well for older cats and dogs. I tried to think positive thoughts but I'm very good at worrying - it's almost my superpower - so my thoughts kept coming back to my darling cat and his surgery. After what felt like days of waiting (but was actually just a few hours) to hear from Clayton, I finally received the phone call to say all was well and the abscess had been much larger that it appeared (and it appeared to be huge from the outside of Tristan so it must have bee really large). Tristan was now ready to pick up and take home for further nursing, pampering and wound care.
I picked Tristan up and was run through the very little I needed to do for him. He had a rubber tube, threaded through two hold in the abscess area tied in a knot. All I needed to do was clean the area with a water soaked cotton wool ball when needed, otherwise Tristan was good to go. Clayton told me I could either remove the rubber drain myself or bring him back to the surgery. I assured him I was well versed in removing drains, stitches and grass seeds and even lambs from pets and livestock and with a last pat for Tristan Clayton said goodbye.
Tristan has been a model patient. He was confined to the bathroom on Clayton's advice because of the messiness of his drain, but after a full day as a prisoner amongst the tiles Tristan was stir crazy. I made a bed for him out of soft rags on his favourite part of the lounge and Tristan settled in and barely moved for three days. Strangely, on his third day of his recuperation Tristan removed under the Christmas tree. I wasn't sure what he was up to back there, but with all the presents under the tree and the fact that the branches reach quite low to the floor I couldn't find him. I found this hard to believe. As I have said, Tristan is a rather large orange cat, finding him should have been easy amongst red wrapping, cream carpet and green tree branches, but Tristan achieved invisibility and spent the whole day in there. The novelty wore off though and he returned to his rag bed the next day.
I took the drain out yesterday morning and Tristan is now keen to get as many scratches on the healing wound as possible. I know from experience how itchy healing wounds can be so I supply as many scratches and rubs as he wants, it keeps me busy, I can tell you. He still loves his rag bed and it looks like being a fixture among my decor for a while to come.
This morning Tristan decided that he'd like to venture outside and reacquaint himself with nature. He indicated this desire by heading me off as I walked towards the lounge room. Once he had my attention he walked to the front door, sat down and gave me that significant look he gives when he wants to be on the other side of any particular door. I opened the door and Tristan moved to the threshold, stopped, looked to the right and the left and decided that was enough nature for today. He then turned around walked to the lounge room and planted himself on his rag bed. Maybe tomorrow he'll actually put a paw outside. If not, that's fine. I'd rather he became a full time inside cat where he's safe from all the dangers of the great outdoors.
