We recently had a very uncomfortable occurrence in our home. I attempt not to mention anyone that I know in these posts, but my cats have served up their identities to me as part of their room and board.
Let me put it this way, Furbz (she is named after the Furby toy due to the noises she made when I got her, as well as the passive aggressive behavior) put her paw in the fire. I wish I didn’t have to add, “literally.”
The cat and human members of my household (meaning my two cats and myself) recently stayed in someone else’s home. In that home, there are not coils on the burners of the stove. Instead, it is a very smooth, very solid glass cooktop. Furbz was on the precipice of discovering the manner in which a glass cooktop operates as I was distracted by scraping a runny, yet simultaneously wadded mass of dough from a boxed protein pancake mix into the trash can. I was quite frustrated with my ruined breakfast. I was not aware of Furbz’ location until I turned around from my post and saw her perched on the edge of the counter, facing me. I freaked out because I knew the stove was still hot. She was wedged up on a very small section of counter between the far edge of the stove and the wall.
I instinctively yelled something like “No!” As soon as it was out of my mouth, she hopped onto the hot glass. When one paw clearly realized the temperature, she sped across the whole burner instead of turning back. As a result, she got a nasty burn on one paw and lightly toasted the rest. She had obviously been spooked. I felt terrible. I hadn’t been able to stop myself from yelling when I realized how close to the heat she was, but I felt like I’d made it worse by yelling in fear.
I took her to the vet as soon as was possible. She blistered one paw so that the top layer of skin came off, but it didn’t get to the tissue below. I’m so grateful that it was only a superficial layer. The other paws were okay. Treatment came in the form of antibiotics twice a day, pain medicine once a day, and once her initial bandage from the vet came off, non stick gauze pads wiped with Neosporin and taped on with the aid of baby stocks.
Baby socks, indeed. I bought her a pack with little kitties on them, which seems a tad ironic. She kept the bandage from the vet on for two days until I removed it (with the aid of scissors). I then made her a baby sock bandage, but didn’t tape tightly enough. I was afraid of squeezing her too hard. I tried again immediately. That baby sock bandage stayed on for the day. After that, every bandage I tried to make was shaken off as soon as I finished. I compensated by soaking her paw in Epsom salts.
She is starting to feel better now. She has since been to the vet for a previously scheduled appointment (because she has issues with her butt). Her paw was looked at and deemed a fair amount better. Now all I can do is wait and attempt to offer comfort as she continues to feel even better. I am so glad that she is out of the woods.
For a few days, she was three-pawing-it. She kept her paw tucked up as she walked. If you’ve ever had an injured pet, you probably know that combination of tenderness, commiseration, and desire to “laugh at a funeral” about the awkwardness of their behavior while healing. Your heart breaks that your pet looks so pitiful, yet so comical. It makes a sad, barely amused “Oh!” issue forth from just about anyone’s mouth. Throw in the mix the overwhelming slash of gratitude that your pet is feeling just a little bit better today, and you have a cat (or dog) mom.