The Road

This is the road outside my house. This, or one very nearby is where Dexter was run over this morning.

At 06.50 I walked out of my front door and immediately saw him laying in the grass in distress, crying. In fact meowing louder than he ever has. Arguably actually making a cat-noise for the first time ever.

It was clear that he had at least broken his back leg, but was also bleeding from his anus. Just to look at him in such pain was heartbreaking.

By 0700 I had contacted the emergency vet and he agreed to meet us at the surgery at 0730. Hasty calls to both employers followed and painfully distressful hugs with my two girls, and by 0725 my wife and I arrived at the vets. Dexter was covered in towels; they themselves covered in blood and faeces. He continued to cry out. 'Make the pain go away!'

We were just about holding it together.

The assistant vet took Dexter from us and we sat down together, holding hands, numb. Saying nothing. It was a surreal experience similar to that 4 years ago when our son was run over and had to have a 2 hour operation to save his leg. This morning I just stared at a light blinking on the burglar alarm and kept thinking to myself that this place needs more pictures on the walls (it had none).

Every so often we heard a pitiful meow coming out the door. By 0745 the assistant told us that he had sedated Dexter, given him painkillers and fluids.

The vet himself was delayed in traffic and the minutes ticked by like centuries. Finally he arrived and X-rays were taken, confirming that his leg was broken at the ankle. Not good. Without further examination they couldn't tell us for certain whether he had any chance.

Go home we were told and by lunchtime they would know. My wife went to work and I took my daughters to the train station and to school respectively.

At 1130, unable to wait any longer, I called them. Dexter had a fractured pelvis, but they could see no evidence of further damage. He was in shock though and they would know in a few hours what was going to happen next. This was not Dexters vet, so they would want to speak to him, and transfer him back for further treatment.

Today has ticked away at snail-pace. On my mind constantly has been the little ginger cat that has grown up with us over the last year, but not lost his playful nature, or his desire to have his stomach tickled for, apparently, hours at end.

I phoned again at 1430. No change, they are considering their options, but they believe there is other internal damage. All they can tell me is that his spine is ok, but there more be a problem with a burst bladder or kidneys. Not good news.

The vets call me at 1615 to tell me Dexter has been transferred back to his own vets now. That's...good news right? I have no idea.

At 1630 I call Dexter vets and speak to Martin. We've known him for years and he loves cats. He tells me that he thinks a wheel has gone over our cat. The only thing he can do now is perform an exploratory operation to see the full extent of the damage and find out if it's possible to fix him.

I want to hope, but I can't bring myself.

Martin says that I can see Dexter, and he also needs me to sign a consent form. At 1715 I drive to the vets, with my 2 girls in tow (they want to see him) and find Dexter looking comfortable in a horrible metal 'cage'. He recognises us and spends the next 20 minutes enjoying strokes and tickles. He looks so alive it's almost impossible to believe his life is at risk. I just want to take him home, but I can't.

With my girls still caressing him, I go and speak to the vet again and he shows me the x-ray, and again explains what he needs to do. It won't happen until tomorrow morning. If Dexter has a ruptured bladder (which looks increasingly likely) he should be able to fix it. It's the other internal damage that could kill him.

"Just make him better!" is what I want to say, but I just nod and say "OK". Martin talks money, and all I can say is "whatever it takes, whatever is best for him".

I give Dexter one last stroke; the girls tell me he's been purring and dribbling, and then we leave. It's 1804

As I write this it's 1852, I'm at home, and Dexter is in that 'cage'.

Tomorrow, we'll see what happens.

Right now, all I can do is hope, and hate that road.