The original trip back from the RSPCA was a symphony of tiny pathetic mewling. His first trip to the vet (in the cat carrier) was also deafening. Eventually I wised up and took him in a Bakers' Delight bread-bag, which he seemed to like more, but you inevitably got Looks from passers by who were horrified by the Tortures You Must Be Inflicting on the poor cat for it to be Making That Noise.
Sometime on saturday, my little lebkuchen-small managed to slice open his back paw, right down between the two middle toes. He was apparently unfazed by the crusted blood and horrible smell, but we hustled him to the vet, who prescribed Stitches, requiring full sedation, and then confinement to quarters for ten days.
Taking home the woozy cat post-anaesthetic was pretty funny. He managed to crawl out of his cat-bag (brand new, skull print, very stylish, thankyou smith street fashion outlet shopping) while I was driving and into my lap. Monumentally dangerous and also monumentally cute. Okay, so it was a forty zone all the way home, so probably not that dangerous, but it's quite hard to steer around a cat.
On returning home, catnik was alternately purry, screamy, hissy and passed out on the carpet. Also funny. The funny started to drop away after about 2am, when the last of the anaesthetic wore off and kitten wanted to go out.
Those tiny little kitten lungs are not little any more. The volume on my cat has been turned up over the years. The yowling. The screaming. The plaintive mewling, designed to hit whatever mental nerve we humans have for crying offspring. His little kitteny voice asking "Why are you doing this? Why? WHY? WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME??". All night. Two minute intervals followed by five minute serenades. And I have ten more days of this.
Next time he hurts his leg, I'm just going to shoot him.