animal doctors/survivors of war

It is only funny because we all survived.

Imagine, if you will, a noise that sounds like a golf ball in a blender. A bizarre banging. A ridiculously fast banging. Imagine that sound flying around your house for about 30 seconds before a very cute calico cat tumbles by you doing airborne donuts and the kinds of acrobatics reserved for cartoon characters. You try to catch her to see what in the Sam H-e-l-l is going on. And you notice there is a plastic tray full of industrial strength adhesive stuck to her hind foot. A glue trap is stuck to her foot. A glue trap full of dead bugs, along with cat foot, since we have not had a mouse in our basement for quite some time (and never caught one with those stupid things anyway).

My mind was racing. How do you beat the kind of glue meant for this purpose? Are they going to have to amputate her foot? If I let go of her, is she going to rip the pads off her own paw? Home alone with a then-pantless 3 year old and a [tough] baby, it's not like I could have loaded her up and gone to the vet. So I held her still, as best I could, and tried to wrap her trap/paw in plastic to prevent additional appendages getting stuck. This plan failed miserably, and I was bleeding. So Caroline decides we are going to figure this out, and as I held a freaked out cat flat to our counter, she pulled up a stool. "Hi, honey. It's going to be ok!" Sweet, right? I yelled at her to get back, afraid she would get clawed or bitten by a scared cat. Good move, Mom.

I got my wits about me and figured out that oil and adhesives are not friends. So I carried the cat and her trap/foot from one spot to another, getting clawed all the while, and got a bottle of olive oil (EVOO!) and tried to get the cat in the sink so I could pour it on her foot. This attempt at sinkification resulted in a fat lip (for me).

Things were getting hairy, so I sent Caroline on a task I'd hoped would take a few minutes -- "Bring me a towel, please!" She told Lucci Cat not to worry, that she'd be right back. It took her about 10 seconds. I was pouring oil all over the trap, the foot, my kitchen. I could see the ugly skeletal structure of her paw with the fur all minimized and soaked. I attempted to wrap her in the towel to keep her from flinging oil all over the place as she flicked her leg, and I massaged her foot and poured on even more oil. She took a grand leap, trying to escape from the towel and my grasp... and she got away. Mid-air, I noticed the trap flying off her foot. I gasped.

Caroline whooped and hollered, "High five! We're vets!"