Comstock Chronicles

the cat and the coyote

The sound of a dog’s bark and a cat’s screech, jolted Phil and I from our sleep a few mornings ago. We leapt out of bed and flew to the window to see what was going on. The kerfuffle sounded like it was coming from right outside our bedroom window.

“A coyote’s got the cat!” I shouted. And we raced out into our side yard.

About three weeks ago, a young gray cat with a white stripe across his shoulders had appeared in our front yard. The children took to him immediately and he seemed to take to us. He was friendly, used to children, and invited himself right into our home without invitation, acting like he owned the place. He helped himself to the butter on our kitchen counter and batted my children’s legs in playful pursuit. He also didn’t seem to have any fear of cars or vacuums or cacophonous children’s games. He once hopped right into Phil’s car when Phil was getting ready to go somewhere.

And the cat didn’t go away either. I didn’t feel right about keeping him inside, one because Phil is allergic, and two because I thought it ought to go home. But the cat didn’t go home. He slept on the cement stoop outside our kitchen door unless it was too hot, then he slept in the shade beneath our mandarine orange tree.

The children were delighted with our new cat and promptly named it Frisky. They thought he was hilarious when he dug a hole to poop and then covered his business up. They shrieked and yelled when he climbed our avocado tree and explored the roof. And they cheered him on when he chased a squirrel off the property. We had to shoo Frisky away when driving off so he wouldn’t run out into the street, which he did anyway. One evening, I spotted him hanging out with a possum and another cat. He didn’t have his hackles raised or anything. He was just chillin’.

In the last three weeks, Frisky brought us lots of joy, some fleas, and two rats. For the fleas we got him a collar. For the rats, we praised him and then tried not to barf. The first rat was headless, the second was 100% alive.

So, when we heard the unmistakable sound of a dog and cat fight, we burst into the side yard and spotted a coyote with our Frisky in its mouth. Phil had grabbed the kitchen mop because that’s what you grab when you’re jolted from your sleep at 4am, and the coyote must’ve been afraid of clean floors because it dropped the cat and retreated a few yards.

Frisky leapt to his feet only to collapse on his side as if his back were broken. Phil stood guard while I grabbed a bath towel and scooped up the cat to bring him inside. With the cat safely in the bathroom, Phil went back and gave that German-shepherd-sized-coyote something to think about by pegging it with his pellet riffle. It was the most we could do to appease our rage at that coyote.

Inside, Frisky was in shock. He was bleeding from the mouth, wheezing, and curled up very still, but he didn’t seem to have any external wounds. We looked him over, then put food, water, and litter box in the bathroom with him, and attempted to go back to sleep. We did not sleep. We lay there, angry and worried. Why hadn’t I let the cat sleep in the bathroom at night? Why did I leave food out for him there on the stoop for him do eat like a dodo while the coyote’s were prowling? Where were this cat’s owners? Was Frisky dying?

Before the kids woke up, we moved the cat to the garage so the children could use their bathroom. All that day the cat slept. The bleeding from his mouth stopped and instead he drooled incessantly. This was Sunday, so I didn’t think there would be any vets open. Plus, were we really ready to pay $1500 just for an emergency exam on a cat that wasn’t really ours? We waited and worried and waited. We told the kids that Frisky had a fight and we’d put him in the garage and they weren’t to disturb him.

Rose was full of questions and she smartly surmised, “It was either a possum or coyote or raccoon.”

The next day seemed hopeful. Frisky meowed and took some very slow careful steps around the garage. He lapped up milk and had a bowel movement. But the day after that was low again as Frisky seemed to have something stuck in his throat after he ate. He would howl and backup and bat at the air in front of his mouth. After several distressing phone calls to unsympathetic vets who told me they wouldn’t see him or that an emergency examination would cost the moon, we got an appointment and took the cat in.

He had a cracked tooth. That’s it. No broken bones. No punctured lungs. No collapsed wind pipe. One of his back teeth was cracked through and was causing Frisky pain and some swelling. Frisky got antibiotics, pain killers, and a rabies shot, and then went home.

Frisky is happily hanging out in the garage now with his belly full of wet food and pain meds. And I’m recovering at home with a stress stomach ache and diarrhea. But maybe that was more than you wanted to know. Sheesh! Owning pets is tough.