Roy Hobbs is a mean drunk

Last week, my cat had two teeth pulled. This required him to be put under anesthesia. I was more worried about the anesthetic than I was the surgical procedure. Anesthesia can be tricky for felines.

So I was very excited when I got the call at 3:00 in the afternoon, telling me he was healthy and strong and ready to come home. The vet's staff warned me, though. My very big boy was hissing, biting and scratching.

"Oh, he won't be that way with me!" After all, I've had cats my entire life and they've all had medical procedures. Reynaldo came out of anesthesia ready to rock. I'd have to keep an eye on him to keep him from jumping because his depth perception was impaired and he could hurt himself. Both my Connie Cat and Joey came home confused and disoriented. Connie wanted to be left alone, hiding under the bed. Joey wanted to snuggle and curled up next to me for comfort.

Roy Hobbs was different. Boy, was he different!

He literally spent three hours hissing at me. He hissed at me so vehemently and so continually that he was out of breath and panting. Yet he wouldn't leave the room. He wouldn't go to sleep. He just sat at my feet, stared at me, and hissed.

"Leave me alone, you possessed Stephen King Cujo Cat!" 

Now let me be clear: he never bit or scratched me (as he had the vet staff). He just stared and hissed. And stared and hissed. He also seemed happy to see Connie Cat, who groomed him a little. But he obviously blamed furless bi-peds, like me and the vet staff, for his discomfort and he was not forgiving or forgetting.

Finally, at about 6:30, he dozed off. Thank God!

Imagine my surprise when I was awakened before dawn by Roy Hobbs on the pillow next me, purring. The anesthesia had worn off and he was his sweet old self again.  

I'm so glad my boy is back. And next time he has anesthesia, I'll know what to expect.