It was late and a winter’s night. As usual, Smudge lay sprawled across his rug hogging the heater, while from the couch my snores accompanied T.V. sounds. Suddenly, a thumping noise work me up.
Smudge must have gone to his water bowl, and now limped towards me, his right, front paw curled under. He tried extending his paw again, but quickly retracted it, dropping to his belly. I rushed to his side. Minutes later, he hadn’t advanced further. Smudge didn’t appear to be in constant pain, so I lifted him onto the couch and hoped that he would be okay.
The next day he was walking, but didn’t jump up on anything. I took Smudge to the vet who coaxed him out of the carrier with a few liver treats. The vet found that the big mog couldn’t move his right shoulder as high as the left one, then miraculously he could. Possibly, he had slept on his paw.
Back in the carrier, I lugged the fluff-ball to the car. ‘Expensive treats!’ I exclaimed.
Three days later he’s leaping like an acrobat and been snuggling on the bed. Smudge is now sprinting down the hallway as we play hide and seek. Recently, there was another toilet incident—a trail of droppings inside—even though the back door was open. See ‘Holding On’, February, 2017. Smudge’s excuse: It was a frosty morning.
At almost 15, Smudge’s attitude and good looks defies his age, although his belly hangs low.