Saturday, March 5, 2011
Mister Sir's (a.k.a. Tarzan) tail has been in for repair several times over the past few years. Once it was broken, once it had a puncture wound, once it was cut to almost the bone, and, now, he won't stop chewing it for some reason.
Either he has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or he has nerve damage in his tail. The first course of treatment is Prozac. Poor Sir. He's wearing a cone around his head so that he cannot chew his tail. Once his tail is healed and he's been on Prozac for three weeks, the cone can come off and we'll see if he resumes chewing his tail or not. Hopefully he won't, because if he does, then it is likely that he has nerve damage in his tail and it will have to be amputated. And that makes me absolutely sick. Sir loves his tail and so do I. It's the best indicator of his mood. If he has no tail, I'll have to rely solely on his ears, and those are harder to read.
Giving Mister Sir Prozac every day is hellish. My hands are covered in bites and scratches and bruises, and that's WITH him wearing the cone. I cannot imagine what would happen if his sharp teeth were completely unhindered! If the Prozac does its job, the cone will come off, but the antidepressants will continue indefinitely. I'll have to come up with a better way to give that cat his pills.
Almost nothing seems to cheer Sir, not even his Wife Biter t-shirt. He wears it without a fight, even. The cone is bringing him down. We've tried convincing him that the cone is a mane, but he's not buying it. He's too smart for that. He's dumb enough to get into the litter box and attempt to use it while we're still pouring in the fresh Tidy Cat, but he's too smart to believe that the cone is a mane. What can I say? Being too smart for our own good runs in the family. So does tail-chewing. Well, if we had tails, we'd be chewing them, I bet. Sir fits in all too well.