And The Verdict Is...

So I took Hobbes to the vet. The tail injury was such that he proposed a kind of sew back on reconstruction thing - with a warning: "If I don't think this will work out during the procedure, I will call you and let you know that we will have to dock his tail."

Here, I am thinking well, okay. He'll dock it at the point two inches below the tip wear the wound existed. So his tail will be a little stumpy. I said as much to him.

His news to me was that he would have to fully dock the tail due to the nature of the wound. If it came to that, anyway.

So I drop him off after buying his first cat carrier, coming home to get him, driving him there in full on hellcat mode (in which he makes a sound akin to a screaming banshee, but more child-like and freaky)... mind that the full on hellcat mode is not due to his wound. The yowling freaky sound stems merely from the fact that he is in a moving car.

In a cat carrier.

After hearing about the possible outcome to this situation, both good and bad, I drove to work guilty til the day was long. I am very attached to this particular feline. That says a great deal for me, as I have been victim to poorly executed luck when it comes to cats.

Only two came before Hobbes: one in Washington that was simply a high maintenance mess that was exacerbated by the fact that he was a Persian. I know my experience with that cat could only result in some kind of joke that starts with "what happened to the girl that shaved the Persian with a pair of barber shears?"

However, I have yet to figure out a funny punchline as the cat didn't make me laugh.

I was then subjected to a "suckered in" deal in which the cat that was begat landed in my life via the delivery, "It needs adopting. It was found abandoned." No one mentioned that the thing was never socialized and ran on hair trigger when it came to the possibility of other cats. Anywhere near it. Like, when it saw one out the window and suddenly attacked me, after which I had to get shots and take an extreme high dose of anti-biotic that was only reserved for eldery pneumonia patients.

But forget about me. Now we come to Hobbes. Forget about any cat that came before that was merely a cat. This is our little cat-dog. At a summer weight of twelve and a winter weight of fifteen, this tabby is all muscular bulk. His shenanigans prove to be fatal to many of our rodent neighbors that surround us out here in this unincorporated township.

When Tim walks around the house to look at anything, Hobbes will follow him. He will stop when Tim stops and follow him again as he continues to move.

He answers to his name.

He is always on the wrong side of the door.

During his internment in our household, Hobbes has acclimated past the moniker of Stray and gotten closer to Domesticated. On days that I wish he would grow a thumb, I still adore him laying on our bed amongst our smells and warmth. Then I chastise him for not having a job.

So today he spent one of his numerous lives going through shots, anesthesia, surgery and now a full six days of boarding due to our Thanksgiving plans. And so I can be thankful over this weekend that at 3PM I was called and told that Hobbes will keep his tail. No worse for the wear, and now fully Domesticated with the required "associated paperwork."

Have a great holiday, everyone.