It's lonely on the job these days because my companion and coworker Ginger is out on sick leave. Last week, it was apparent that her ear was swollen for some reason. A coworker, one of our daytime managers, took her to the veterinarian, and her ear pinna was drained, and her claws were trimmed so she wouldn't be able to shred us when we massaged her ear to reduce fluid buildup... unfortunately, squeezing her ear produced no draining, but did demonstrate the vet's prescience when Ginger made her displeasure known.
Yesterday, Ginger's ear was operated on, and my coworker took her home so she could convalesce- she's receiving an oral medication, so he brings her in during the day so he can give her her regular dose. She is also, for the first time in her eleven years, wearing the Cone of Shame:
I know Ginger is in good hands, and I am relieved that she is being cared for, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss her. She's pleasant company, and it's odd not to have her snoring on top of my bag, at my elbow. She'll be back soon enough, once the cone comes off, and I'll be glad to have her company.
ADDENDUM: It's weird how Ginger's absence has subtly thrown off my routine. At shift change, I was looking around for her as my coworker drove off, and I was closing the gate to the property. This morning, I stopped myself as I was reaching for a can of cat food for her morning feeding. It's the little things that one does with little consideration that end up confusing oneself.
There is no shame. She may have got bitten by some tick or insect.She may have run into a hostile plant. I hope she recover speedily. She probably hates that cone.
"It Is For Her Own Good".
She's doing okay. She's getting spoon fed, even.
Workmate in a cone, I know,
I know, it's serious...
Our departed Moxie (another orange girl) absolutely hated the cone. As a youngster she got chased up a tree by a local tomcat who bit up her hind feet badly enough to need stitches. (He got lulled into complacency with a couple cans of wet food, after which he had a veterinary appointment that resulted in much lower levels of aggression.) We carefully explained to her that she needed to wear the cone so she wouldn’t pull out her stitches.
That night she took it off herself, which meant untying the knot that held it in place and slipping a long plastic tab out of three slots it was laced through. She’d apparently taken her lecture to heart, though, because she never went after her stitches.
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