Callie the collie

The focus has been off Callie for a while, and on Bertie. Bertie the brawler, I should call him. Cats really are wild animals — even a cat as affectionate and intelligent as Bertie. Or maybe it's just tomcats.

Meanwhile, Callie is just sweet. Even when she sees Bertie and gets all excited, barking and whimpering, she is just that — excited. Wanting to play. Have a game of chase. She isn't aggressive or really fierce about it.

Callie the collie

Bertie the brawler is much more ferocious, hissing and taking wide swipes with his paw at Callie's face, claws extended. He hasn't scored a direct hit yet, I'm glad to say.

Enjoying an afternoon walk

But direct hits there have been — on Bertie. Yesterday started off normally enough. I took a bowl of cat food down to the garage and there he was, purring and rubbing against my legs. Being a French cat, he eats packets of food called Marinades (pronounce it with a French accent, s'il vous plaît) — today it was chicken in a brown sauce, tomorrow it will be duck.

Callie soaking up the sun

Then I opened the garage window so that Bertie could come and go as he pleased during the day. That was that.

At noontime, I went down to the garage to see if he was there. He was, and he had a big bleeding wound on the top of his head. He was in a daze, I could tell. He was sitting in the window, as if surprised to have actually arrived at his new home again after his brawling or mauling.

Duck en sauce for the cat

I went and got a clean cloth, wet it with warm water, and bathed the wound as best I could. Walt came downstairs to hold Bertie and I spritzed some Bactine on his head. He didn't like that, but he didn't scratch. He spent much of the afternoon hiding among the boxes and odd pieces of furniture we have stored in the garage right now.

By evening, he was back up on his soft bed (which he soiled, but not badly, twice — he probably lacked the energy or was too confused to go to the litter box). He was quiet. I left him closed in all afternoon and evening.

Here's a plum tree that blew down in the February wind storm.
Some men came by with a tractor, set the tree
upright, and propped it up with posts.

This morning he was up and around, and obviously pleased to see me when I took his bowl of poulet down to him. His wound still looks oozy, so we'll have to go try to clean it up again this morning, and disinfect it. There's no way to know whether it was a brawl with another cat, or an attack by some other creature, that laid him low.