...lives, that is.
Claude is one of those cats who can really survive anything. You already know about his broken leg, and kidney infection, and hyperthyroidism that we have been battling this summer. He is really doing great-even if his leg healed a little crooked. Kidneys are back in shape, he is eating normally again, life is good.
While Charlie and I were off enjoying our Wisconsin weekend, Mike accidentally bumped one of the knobs on our gas stove on his way out the door Saturday. Charlie and I arrived home Sunday afternoon to a house filled with that nasty aroma that instantly signals terror and panic in your brain.
I grabbed Claude and brought him outside, then opened all the windows. I think the only thing that saved him was that one of our smaller windows in the kitchen was still open, and allowed a space for at least some of the gas to escape.
So the three of us spent the rest of the day outside, waiting for the house to air out. When I felt it was safe, I turned on fans throughout to help get rid of the nasty air. It worked really well, by the time Mike arrived home later that evening things were nearly back to normal.
Wouldn't it have been horrible, after all that poor cat has been through, to get gassed?
I wonder how many lives he has left...