Then I packed like two Beatles t-shirts and some undies, closed all the unscreened windows, cursed the universe quite seriously at 5 am when my car wouldn't start (car alarm ftl), and caught a bus for the airport.
...yes, the "unscreened windows" thing was like Hitchcock's gun on the wall: important to the plot. I had a fantastic time with my beloved family, packed up the condo mostly, sold a bunch of stuff at an endless two day garage sale, felt sad for friends going through rough times (♥), and then, Monday afternoon, during school shopping for my neice, I got a phone call from the SF Veterinary Specialists.
It seems some kindly person had brought in a very hurt kitty, and when they scanned the chip, my name turned up. I was in Wisconsin, and Munch was in California, at the vet's, hurt because the apartment people had opened the windows a bit to air the place out for me. He jumped out the window, it seems, and that might not be so bad, but I live on the fifth floor. Also, he might have struck a ledge or something, who knows, on his way down to the paved parking lot. Window opened Saturday; they found him Monday.
So he had to have a plate and pins put into his shattered leg bone, and he had heavy duty sedation and a wee little pain patch, and he came home yesterday with a lime green cast. He's not in pain, but he is pretty bummed out, because he has to stay enclosed in his KittyWalk thingy for about the next 4 to 12 weeks (depending on healing), and I think he thinks he did something wrong. The KittyWalk thingy is basically a big net in a metal frame, so I lay on the floor and the net allows him to slump against me, and of course I also let him out sometimes to take his yummy meds: antibiotics, and an anti-inflammatory. Malcolm is freaked out, too, mostly at his smell. Much hissing and yowling, but Munch just ignores him
I almost feel sorry for the apartment people. $4500, zoicks, and you're darned tootin' I'll also be submitting the follow up bills. Yeah, almost: when I called in tears to have them check on Mal, the manager said he would, then called me back and said he was fine, that all the windows were now closed.
Got home Tuesday night. Malcolm was fine, although scared and thin. The south window was open three inches; a frickin five-lane highway for a cat.
Gah, people. What the fuck. On the other hand, now me and the kitties kind of own their asses, and also I really love this apartment. Hee! Here is Munch:
Cast has since been signed.
His poor bruised armpit!
Showdown. I believe Malcolm is calling Munch a gimp. No, wait, that was me.