|A sketch I did about seven years ago|
|These pink water lilies and the lavender ones below are those on the pond below.|
|The pond on this property...I've posted this image previously, but it never gets old!|
|View from Main Western Road, Mount Tamborine to the west towards Beaudesert|
My blogging activities have been fairly slack these past two weeks. My mind and energy have been elsewhere occupied; and, overall, I’ve been feeling pretty drained, stressed and exhausted. However, I can now see the light at the end of the tunnel (it’s beaming brightly as I draw nearer the tunnel's end); and, thankfully, I can see the forest as well as the trees.
On Saturday, 28th March as well as being drenched in the light because I’ll be at the very end of the tunnel and being able to touch the trees and the forest, I’ll also be able to exhale.
From my still-unfinished story “Music to My Ears…Purrrfect…Or...To All the Cats I’ve Loved Before…And Still!” (further chapters are yet to come) it’s obvious I love cats; and that they’ve played a huge role in my life. They still do.
My cabin is situated on a three acre block of land. Up at the far end of the property sits my landlords’ home. My little abode is at the opposite end of the block, about three-quarters of the way “south” of the main ranch. Lush trees separate (and a large, water lily-covered pond) the two dwellings, making each totally separate and not visible to the other; nor are they within hearing distance of each other so eavesdropping isn’t possible!
Since 2nd March, every day I’ve been keeping a close eye on my landlords’ five chickens and their cat, Molly. The chickens and I are on first name terms. Mabel, Mildred, Mavis, Myrtle and Maisie greet me with open wings, knowing I’ve a bagful of vegetables, fruit and bread for them to feast upon. They love the daily additions to their regular, boring old chicken pellets.
Most days I pay two visits, primarily to spend more time with Molly, letting her know she’s not been deserted entirely. I’m a big softie, this I know, but I always feel so sorry that she has to spend most of her days and nights alone, but it’s not possible for me to have her here in my cabin with my two furry rascals and me. So it’s always with a heavy heart that I leave her to her own devices after our daily chats and cuddles.
My landlords always leave the window in their indoor laundry slightly ajar so Molly has been able to have egress and access at her will.
Two Mondays ago today - 9th March, to be more exact - I went to pay my morning visit to Molly, as normal. When I went inside the house and entered the back bedroom where Molly had taken up residence she was laying on the bed, as usual.
As is my habit to do, I laid down with her to stroke her, and to have a chat to learn what mischief she'd gotten into and what movies she'd watched since we’d last spent time together. Immediately I knew something was amiss; something was not right with Molly. She barely stirred. She was like a damp, limp cloth. My heart began pounding. I tried to get her to stand up, but to no avail. I tried everything, thinking perhaps she was just “foxing”…but that’s not what feisty Molly is like. On any normal day she would’ve growled, hissed and struck out at me because of the things I was doing with her in an effort to get her to show some movement. Dear little Molly is the only cat I know who can growl and purr simultaneously! When she’s had enough attention, she makes those feelings evident!
Wasting no time I came back to my cabin. I needed to get my cat box. I also needed to phone my landlords’ daughter who lives in Brisbane with her husband and their two little children to inform her of my discovery and of my suspicions. I believed Molly, sometime during her nocturnal roaming the previous evening had been bitten by a snake. Robyn, my landlords' daughter, said for me “to go with my gut”…and that’s what I did. I then rang the local vet describing Molly’s symptoms and that I believed she’d been a snake victim. I was advised to bring Molly into their surgery immediately.
Believing I’d be torn to shreds when trying to put Molly into the cat box (but not caring if I did) I raced back up to the house. Molly, like the damp rag as previously described didn’t put up a battle. I was able to slide her into the cat box with no resistance whatsoever from her.
The trip from my cabin to the veterinary surgery is fairly short distance of between 2 to 3kms, but that morning it felt more like 300kms. With a distressed Molly in the cat box on the passenger seat howling her little lungs out I drove trying to console her with gentle, comforting words while the tears streamed down my face. She couldn’t be comforted; and neither could I.
As we drew closer to North Tamborine where vet is she began to make choking sounds. Fearful she wasn't going to make it I planted my foot on the accelerator, and I didn’t give a damn if I was pulled over for speeding. If I’d had a siren I would’ve put it atop of my car and claimed I was an Animal Ambulance!
At around five minutes past nine I arrived at the vet's premises.
Announcing who I was to the lass at the reception desk Andrew, the vet, immediately appeared and ushered me into one of the rooms. He took Molly from the cat box; she just flopped on the floor. The poor little cat couldn’t stand. Her muscles were gone; all strength had been zapped from them. I was distraught. Andrew confirmed my suspicions. Molly had been bitten by a snake. From the symptoms she was displaying Andrew told me an Easter Small-Eyed had bitten her:-.
You can check them out in the sites above. I won’t put up a picture of the snake. I hate, hate, hate snakes with a vengeance! And there is no way I will display them on my blog! It’s as simple as that! I make no apology and offer no excuses.
Molly was immediately sedated and put on a drip. Andrew told me he didn’t have a true time-line to give me, but it could take up to two weeks, maybe longer for her to recover; if, in fact, at that stage, to his knowledge, she would recover. He did think, because I’d found her when I did and had acted so quickly, her chances of recovery were pretty good.
I drove back home to my cabin as if in a dream. I was mentally, emotionally drained. Feelings that still really haven't left me.
The rest of that day I spent in tears; tears, which lingered, refusing to go away. They kept making their appearance day after day. I’d told the girls at the surgery's reception desk they’d be sick of me because I intended ringing every day to learn of Molly’s progress. And I kept my promise, most days ringing twice a day.
On the Friday after I took Molly to the vet I was allowed to pay her a brief visit; to be able to stroke her and talk with her; to let her know I’d not deserted her. I was with her for about 20 minutes. She was still attached to the drip. She sat up, albeit briefly, but she purred and reciprocated affection. Molly was still quite weak; but Andrew (and his staff) told me she was eating a little, and each day they could see her getting better, bit by bit.
Again, tears ran down my cheeks. No wonder I’m feeling drained. I’m dehydrated!
With the weekend approaching I knew I only had the Saturday morning to make my phone-in check on her progress, which I did. And then, to my surprise, Andrew, the vet, phoned me on the Sunday morning to give me an update on Molly. He was on call over the weekend. I am so full of admiration and appreciation for Andrew.
I told him that I had to be in Beaudesert for a dental appointment at 8.50 am on the Monday morning (a week from Molly’s admittance), but that I’d call into the surgery upon my return here to the “hill” in the hope of again being able to see Molly for a little while.
Around 11 am I pulled into the parking area and entered the vet's building. I was told by the girl on the reception desk I would be able to bring Molly home that day! My mouth fell open in surprise! I was rendered speechless. In no way had I expected to hear those words. It felt like minutes had passed while I stood there with my mouth open like one of those clowns in sideshow alley! Finally, I pulled myself together and expressed my joy at the news. I was told to return to the surgery at 5 pm to pick up Molly. At the time of collection Andrew would see me to give me all the information on Molly I needed.
Twice a day, every day I’d written detailed emails to my landlords who are presently in Orford, Suffolk in the UK, keeping them abreast with what was going on with Molly. They had been very understanding and empathetic; but, of course, they, too, were very upset and sad over the disturbing news I’d imparted.
I informed them once I brought Molly back home the window in the laundry would be slammed shut; and closed it would remain until they arrived back on Aussie soil up here on the mountain...their Aussie soil upon which their house sat. What they do after that is their business; but while Molly is still under my watch there is no way she will be outside…day or night. I've been advised by them that they will allow Molly to go out during daylight hours, but from now on she will be housebound at night. Good!!!!
Naturally, with cat box in hand, (and a bottle of good red wine for Andrew for his heartfelt care and attention) I stepped through the veterinary surgery’s door between 4.50 and 4.55 pm on Monday last, almost panting in anticipation! Actually, there was no “almost”…I WAS panting in anticipation.
Again, my heart was pounding. All through the previous week I’d been feeling distressed; distraught, exhausted and every other description possible. I had no appetite. In fact, my appetite still hasn’t returned completely.
Before I collected Molly and brought her home I set up a litter box in the laundry of my landlords' home. I laid out a smorgasbord for her to graze upon and bolted the laundry window shut! She had her own restaurant and en suite awaiting her return.
Andrew removed the drip from Molly while I waited. He explained how amazed he was by the progress Molly had made over the weekend. She certainly is a tough little lady and no bloody snake was going to kill her – not without a fight; or with Andrew’s expertise, (or with me around)!
With the account for Molly’s hospitalization paid by my landlords I brought her home. His charges were reasonable, in my opinion. A week's hospitalisation and treatment cost $1,296.00. The anti-venom, alone, cost $700.00!
Every day I spend time with Molly; and I do hate having to leave her alone up at the house; but that's the way it is.
As well as being her affection-giver, I’m also her housekeeper. I clean out her en suite and put down fresh provisions for her to chew upon at her leisure. The back bedroom is still her domain, and it becomes mine, too, as I lay on the bed with her as we exchange gossip.
Molly has made a remarkable recovery. Her coat is looking the best I’ve ever seen it, I think. The drip, along with whatever else was needed to get her well again, must have been full of nutrients (perhaps I should go on it for a while). Molly has her appetite back and since being home safe within her own four or more walls she's been eating well from the platters I put down for her. She’s not been outside once since I brought her home. I’ve confined her to quarters for the duration. She has made no attempt at wanting to go outdoors.
I honestly believe she knows…understands…what’s best for her; and that my intentions and actions are for her benefit…and for my peace of mind. There is no way in the world I would be able to rest easy knowing she could get out to roam about outside.
A prisoner…with all the benefits…she is. I’ve even shown her how to switch on the television set! I have left a radio on for her so there is some noise in the house to keep her company. Oh, well…I’ve never denied that I’m crazy..I won’t start now!
I'm so pleased and so relieved that Molly came through...and she's doing so well. It has been very worrying.
By the time my landlords, Molly’s owners arrive home on Saturday she’ll be picture of wellness; and they’ll think I made up the whole saga; but that's okay.
All they need is to take one look at me and they’ll realise everything I told them by email was true!
However, I won’t completely relax until Derek and Denise are home. I’m counting down the seconds!
And then the men in the white jackets will come and take me away, I think!