“No! This a my kitty” — Hoot

Tom Cat had to go to the vet this morning. A few days ago I noticed his sister Midnight was developing a mat on her side. She’s never groomed herself much. In the twelve years we’ve had our cats, her brother Tom’s usually taken care of that for her.

“Tom’s not doing his job. He’s such a jerk,” I joked.

I made an appointment with the vet to see if Midnight was okay and to have them groom her. Brushing her’s an all-day affair for us, involving stalking, bribing, and terrorizing. This used to be one of my Sunday chores, but I haven’t done it much in, oh, about eight years.

I should’ve realized the problem didn’t likely reside in Midnight. It seems obvious now. Last night I noticed a gross sore on Tom’s leg. We decided he should accompany Midnight this morning.

The vet, obviously, had to do things in the exam room that Tom did not appreciate. Hoot kept saying, “Oh, Tommy, poor Tommy,” and trying to comfort him. The adults in the room were a little afraid that Tom might lash out. Hoot’s face being right at claw level, I asked him to step back, the vet asked him to step back, the tech asked him to step back.

“Hoot,” I said. “Go sit on the chair or we’re going to have to leave Tommy here with them by himself.”

“No! This a my kitty.” Hoot stomped his feet and went back to comforting Tom. “You stop. This a my kitty. I stay a him if he sad.”

Hoot’s such a good boy.

In the end, we learned Tom has heart disease and possibly a related autoimmune and hyperthyroid condition. The wound had a long red line connected to it that made our vet worried it’s not just a cut. We’ll see if it heals and if not, have more testing done. The heart disease may be related, or simply a factor of age.

Our cats are so cute and small, easily mistaken for kittens. How can they be senior already?

Hoot’s been doting on Tom all day. He wouldn’t even let me carry him into the house.

“My kitty. He my kitty.”

The vet told us to let her know if Tom’s not interested in food, treats, or water.


Back at home, Hoot immediately found and dumped half a can of Tom’s favorite treat, fish flakes, on the floor.


“This a my kitty.”

Hoot’s nothing if not loyal. I’m not sure Tom appreciates him, though. He’s been hiding under the bed since he finished his treats. He is a cat, after all.

5 thoughts on ““No! This a my kitty” — Hoot

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