From Tumour Head to Frankencat Trilby is back home after his surgery and all is as well as could be expected! Details inside for the interested.

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Last night the vet's office called to confirm Trilby's surgery appointment for today and to warn me not to feed him for 12 hours before that. There was some discussion as to how I could manage this during which the vet's receptionist repeatedly and blithely told me I "didn't need to feel guilty" and I tried to explain that the issue was not guilt but my dread of the prospect of having to listen to non-stop FEED ME NOW YOU SPECIEIST COW squawking for hours on end. In the end we agreed to move the surgery from its original time of 1 p.m. to 9 a.m., and I resolved to feed Trilby an extra large supper.

I gave him three times his normal supper at about five last evening. He ate it all and licked his bowl clean as he usually does, then seemed remarkably quiet and contented and purry all evening. I thought that whatever happened the next day at least he'd gotten to enjoy what he would consider a perfect evening.

The next morning he seemed puzzled but unresentful about the lack of breakfast. Shortly before nine I got him into his carrier (more difficult than usual as I could not use treats as bait as I normally do) and walked to the vet clinic with him in hand.

I had imagined that I'd be able to remain with him until he was under anesthetic, that I would wait for perhaps an hour or so until the surgery was done, and then take him straight home. Instead, I was told that Trilby had to be kept under observation until he regained consciousness, that this would take until four or five in the afternoon, and that they'd call me when it was time to pick him up. Poor, trembling, saucer-eyed Trilby was borne away in the arms of the vet, looking as though he thought his last hour had come, and I came forlornly home without him. It felt very strange not to have him here in the house with me for the first time in over six years, though I must admit it was nice to eat my lunch in peace for once without having to fend off a covetous pussycat.

At two the vet clinic called to say that the surgery had gone well and Trilby was awake and that I could pick him up at four.

Accordingly at four I arrived at the clinic and was taken to the back of the clinic to see poor Trilby in a cage, looking like a feline Frankenstein with a line of sutures across his partially shaved head. I was given some instructions as to his care and some pain medication tablets for him, made an appointment for a check up visit on Thursday, paid the bill, and brought Trilby home again.

Trilby is acting somewhat traumatized (i.e., very quiet, skittish, and shying away from me). However, he's moving freely about the house, seems alert and energetic, and is anxious to stay within sight of me, though he doesn't want me touching him, so it seems all is well and he'll be fine. I'd like to get a picture of his Frankencat look but he's too upset to allow that at present. Maybe I can take one tomorrow when he's more settled.

Thank you all again for making it possible for me to have Trilby's medical issues attended to. You can't imagine how big of a relief this has been for me. Now I will no longer feel helplessly anxious every damn time I look at my cat. Instead, he will soon be his handsome, healthy, cuddly, playful usual self.