Pepper Pot

Poor little Pepper Pot. I brought her home from the vet. I opened the door to the cat carrier, and…whoosh! She was gone like a flash of black lightning. She feels totally betrayed. Won’t come near me. She runs away. If I can’t catch her, then I can’t put the cone on her. I finally found her, again. Hiding under the bathroom sink. Which isn’t such a bad place for her to be. Under there she’s calm and feels safe. It’s a small space, and I can close the door. Even better no other cats can get disturbed by the weird smell she has now, thanks to being at the vets’. At least she isn’t running and jumping all over the place. The important thing is she’s safe and calm. Hopefully she’ll remember that she actually does like me.

For the sake of normalcy, to help reduce her fear and anxiety, I went to my “comfy chair” and turned on the TV. After a few hours, I went back to the bathroom, opened the cabinet door, and peeked in. There she was, curled up and maybe sleeping. She was as far in the back as she could go. I started talking to her, and slowly, one at a time, removed some things that she was hiding behind. I was able to reach in far enough that I could just barely touch her tail. She needed to be reminded that she likes me, and I like her.

It took a while, but I finally got her to come on out on her own. I carefully picked her up and held her close, talking the whole time. I carried her back to the living room, sat down, and continued to love up on her for as long as she would let me. It was quite a long time.

When she had had enough, I went to put her into the playpen for her to recover from her surgery. She did not like that. Nope. Not one bit. I made sure she had fresh water. I gave her a very special treat and she ignored it. She just had to be hungry, but she wouldn’t eat anything. She did drink some water, so I was hopeful she’d come around.

She kept on complaining. She sat there and cried. Tired of that, go lay down. Then stand up and cry some more. Finally after about 2 hours of that she finally decided to eat her treat-meal. Or, at least some of it. I didn’t want her to eat too much right away, because of the surgery on her tum-tum.

Finally I couldn’t take the crying any longer and picked her up for some more laptime and loving. She started to get a little “squirmy” so I went to put her back into the playpen. OOPS. Jumped out of my hold and gone like a flash. Again. Okay then, I can take a hint. Eventually.

Of course I wasn’t happy that she was on the loose again. Stitches can get “blown out” if the cat is too active. But, on t’other hand, considering all the female cats that I have had, all spayed, there was only one who had a problem with her stitches. And that was because her doctor was incompetent and didn’t put in enough stitches. That’s another story.

So I just let her be. Praying that she would be smart enough to figure it out that if she did something and her belly hurt, then she would stop doing that. The next day, she came around into the living room on her own, sat down in front of me, and asked if she could come on up for some loving. I patted my lap, said “up” and she did. She thoroughly cleaned my face with her rough little pink tongue. I was finally forgiven. The trauma of being at the vets was finally starting to go away.

The next time she jumped down from my lap, she went straight to “her” litter box inside the playpen. I watched her carefully for any signs of straining or pain. None. But then the silly girl jumped out of the box, reached in with a paw, and scooped out a clump that she had just put there. And she played with it! Batting it around inside the playpen. Well, now I know how/why things got out of that box. Silly girl. I deliberately didn’t leave any of her toys out to avoid too much activity after the surgery. Fortunately she didn’t play for very long. Maybe her tum-tum was hurting her.