One Down, Eight to Go

In a stunning turn of events, Puck has returned to us alive. As reported on this blog, Puck disappeared in early August, and given his age and condition, was assumed gone forever. On Saturday I received a call from my father, who in a garbled message reported that he was driving down to pick me up because he was having a hard time figuring out if a cat rescued down the street was in fact Puck. My mother was out of town.

When I saw him in the flesh, I was amazed. He had been in a backyard about four or five doors down from my parents house. He had apparently ended up on the wrong side of an unsurmountable fence, and then somehow managed to survive seven weeks out alone. Mind you, he has been an indoor cat his entire life. When it rained that same Saturday morning, it was the first time he had felt rain in his life. Over the past week and a half the resident there had been leaving catfood out for his own missing cat, which we can assume Puck was eating, but that doesn't explain his first five and half weeks.

He was wet and emaciated and had a stunned expression on his face, but it was clearly Puck. When we got him back in the house he immediately started purring, despite his still obviously weak condition. Neither my father nor I told mom he had been found. When she walked upstairs and saw him curled up on a comfy chair, she was stunned.

Puck then, Puck now

He has since been to a vet to get an official diagnosis: he lost seven pounds (he's down to nine -- so that was nearly half his weight), he has a horrible flea infestation (his neck is actually bleeding), his claws are worn down to nubs, and he has lost a significant amount of hair. How well he will recover is unknown. We aren't sure if Ash even recognizes him -- so far she's keeping her distance. But Puck is happy, warm and comfortable now. He purrs whenever anyone approaches him.

Hooray for Puck!