A small problem that's not so small

One morning after a night of guarding the soi, Thep rushes into the house. The cat doesn’t stop for a meal but runs about restlessly. He’s walking strangely too, as if his back legs aren’t working properly.

Before I can examine him, he disappears into the soi. He returns in the evening, but he still won’t let me touch him. For days, he avoids me, coming in only to eat, then disappearing again.

Thep is semi-feral. He usually allows me to pet him, but he’s terrified of other people. I wait for him to relax with me again.

Finally, one morning, he comes in and lies on the sofa. His eyes are sunken; his body feels hot.
Then I see the wound just where his spine ends and his tail begins.

He’s obviously quarrelled with another cat who has left a claw mark on his rear end. The injury is so tiny, a puncture with very little blood. I grab my first-aid kit and clean the wound and disinfect it.

The boy seems to know he’s sick and lets me handle him, but the next day, he’s worse. I’m sure I haven’t cleaned that wound properly.

Puncture wounds are nasty. Like an iceberg that hides most of its massive bulk beneath the sea, that tiny opening can hide massive infection beneath the skin - whether the wound is on a cat, a dog or a human.

At the vet’s, we find that the tiny wound has closed over, allowing the injury beneath the skin to turn into a painful abscess two centimetres long. Thep must be restrained as the vet opens the wound and cleans the infection.

The poor cat, terrified of people anyway, squirms in pain and in fear.

The wound must be opened and cleaned every day for seven days. Thep must have antibiotic injections. He’ll have to stay at the vet's, torture for a cat who prizes freedom above all else.

At home, his best friend Thong wanders the house calling sadly for him. Then he lies by the door, accompanied by Wan-Wan the poodle pup, waiting for Thep to come home.

By the fourth day, Thep’s wound has healed nicely, but he’s stopped eating, staring in fear at anyone who comes close to his cage. The vet wants to keep him longer, but she knows it’s time for him to leave.

At home, Thong and Wan welcome him ecstatically. Thep greets them briefly. Then he runs from floor to floor. “I’m going to the fourth floor,” I think he says. “No, I’ll eat something. No.
I’m going to sleep on the second floor. No. I’ll go out to the soi. No. I’ll sleep in the patio.”

The cat spends hours exulting in his freedom. When he finally calms down, he jumps into my lap and kisses me on the nose.