Gwydion went in for his neuter on the first, and for two blissful days we had relative silence. Not that he stopped talking or playing; he did both. But he didn’t find it necessary to announce the fact that he was still breathing every second of every day.
Seriously, he would be the perfect pet for someone who lives alone and just wants someone to talk to. I’ve never met a cat this social before. He talks so much we should have him run for Congress. Or at least get him a job as a spokescat or something.
He’s recovering well and as of last night is back to his usual self, including pacing the hallway yelling and shouting down the shower because SHOWERS ARE DANGEROUS AND WHAT TO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, HUMAN?
It took all of five minutes for him to get the cone of shame off–he popped it off before I even let him out of the carrier. Since he hasn’t shown any interest in licking the incision, however, and quite frankly hasn’t seemed to notice he’s missing body parts, I’ve left it be. He also didn’t need his pain pills. At $20 for 3 pills, I’m wondering if I can get a refund, or if I should try to put them toward my student loans (I jest). That’s gotta be way better than the ibprophen I got when I had my wisdom teeth removed.
Just before his surgery, Hermes was laying on a table, fast asleep, when Gwyd sauntered into the room, yelling as usual. He paused at a food bowl right next to the table. Hermes, angry at having been woken up, jumped onto the chair, stared Gwyd in the eye, slapped him once, then jumped back on the table to go back to sleep! I nearly died laughing (which did not please Sir Hermes), but at least Hermes has decided Gwyd is annoying, but not a threat. He hasn’t been hissing at him as much lately.
We’re starting to let Gwyd out of the bathroom at night, and have limited success. If we don’t isolate him, he wanders the house, yelling, and we get no sleep.
About a week before his surgery, I walked into the bathroom first thing in the morning to see him curled up in the bottom drawer of the vanity, hugging a roll of toilet paper, with his head resting on the edge of the drawer front. It was 6am and I burst out laughing.
A few days later, I had to pee in the middle of the night. This time I crept in with my phone, prepared to snap a picture, but instead of his head, there was just a paw sticking out of “his” drawer.
The day before the surgery, I went to give him breakfast and let him out. I opened the door, but he didn’t come running as usual. I poured the food in the bowl, no Gwyd. I checked the shelf he used to sleep on, behind the toilet, and in the bathtub.
Now for us, our bathroom is pretty big. It’s a decent size for an apartment. But there are only so many places a cat can hide, and all the vanity drawer were shut.
Still, I opened the cabinet door, which has a child lock on it, just in case.
And out wandered Gwyd, glancing up at me like, “It’s about time! You’re late.” Somehow, he managed to open drawer, climb inside and then shut it on himself.
At least there’s nothing harmful to cats in there anymore.
We’ve also found evidence that he like the “top bunk” (aka the top drawer of the vanity). That drawer is almost completely full, but it has my hair wrap in it for after my shower. I opened the drawer one day to find the wrap covered in cat hair, and the roll of toilet paper I’d hidden there not only furry, but with tiny claw marks in it where he’d been hugging it in his sleep. He really is Corona cat–not only did he show up during a pandemic with his own mask and gloves, but he has to sleep with his security toilet paper.
I know I have said this about just about all of my cats, but really. Gwyd takes the cake when it comes to weird felines.
Gwyd is an FIV+ neutered male in good health who is available for adoption. If you are interested, please leave a comment below with your preferred contact info.