I get a call at the office from The Wife who reported that the cat had mauled her.
We adopted Cecil, our Maine Coon Cat, almost two years ago. Since that time he has become a treasured member of the family. He's had some problems though... He has an aggressive streak to him. Some times, you can identify when he's about to let you have it and you can avoid doing anything that will upset him. Such as breathe.
He has two levels of aggression. The first level is just an overly playful tendency to bite. Then there's the black-eyes-of-hell-crazy-bastard-cat. This is the Mr. Hyde to Cecil's Dr. Jekyl. Shortly after we first got him, he attacked Suzanne. It was a vicious incident where his teeth raked down her bare shoulder bringing blood.
And a lot of yelling.
We later realized that he had heard a cat crying outside. Our vet explained that this external stimulus sent him over the edge. Since that time, we have done a fair job of managing him.
Suzanne was walking down the hall and Cecil launched himself at her, biting her calf, shaking his head as if to tear her leg off.
After coming home from the office to dress the wife's wound, we discussed the Cecil situation. It's odd. One moment he's fine, next moment he's a furry piranha.
"I think he's bipolar," I observed.
Suzanne called our vet, discussing the incidents. He concurred with my diagnosis and prescribed diazepam.
I've got crazy on my side of the family. Suzanne has crazy on her side of the family. It makes sense that our cat is crazy, right?
"I'm here to pick up a prescription for my cat," I said at the Walgreen's counter.
Heidi, one of the pharmacy clerks, rushes over - abandoning the customer she was with to speak to me. "So your cat has a little anxiety?"
She seemed amused at the prospect.
"Yes," I nod. "I think he may be manic-depressive."
I fully expect at some point that Cecil will tell me that he is isn't broken and doesn't need to be fixed, that pills are poison, and that he no longer plans to take them.
After the pharmacy, I drove over to the library to pick up a book I had on hold. Worries of mentally ill cat filled my head as the security guard approached me.
"I'm sorry, sir. We're closed."
I glanced at my watch. It was 7:55 pm.
"Library closes at 8," I said.
The paunchy guard repeated, "Library's closed."
People were still in the Library. Books were being checked out.
"Get out of my way, Barney, I'm a tax payer!" And I shoved my way past to retrieve and check out Ultimate Spider-man Volume 5.
It is remarkable that in my encounter with Deputy Fife that I did not use the words "God Dammit" or "Oh Great Christ." I credit this to attending the men's prayer group earlier this evening.
I went home and doped the kitty.
Posted by Aron Head
at 10:26 PM CDT
Updated: Sunday, 28 October 2007 9:17 AM CDT