The Adventures of PadFoots & ToeBeans - #006
🐾 HOME SWEET HOME
The Wounded Monarch
Following my successful retrieval of Big Human and Lil Human from the wilderness, I was immediately escorted back inside the Estate.
I cannot overstate the relief.
Climate control.
Soft furnishings.
Familiar smells.
No unsupervised birds.
No potentially wolfish Padfoots.
No suspicious bodies of water.
Home.
Big Human, however, appeared unwilling to simply accept that the ToeBean-in-Charge had returned safely.
An inspection was apparently required.
A very thorough inspection.
I was examined from head to paws.
Ears.
Eyes.
Face.
Back.
Belly.
Tail.
Every inch of me subjected to Big Human's scrutiny.
I tolerated this.
She had been through a great deal.
Then she reached my front leg.
And touched...
The Spot.
I recoiled.
PAIN.
Unspeakable pain.
I looked at Big Human.
She looked at me.
I attempted to put weight on the affected limb.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
I withdrew my paw and held it protectively against my chest.
Big Human's expression changed immediately.
She touched the leg again.
GOOD HEAVENS, WOMAN.
I objected.
Loudly.
Big Human became concerned.
Very concerned.
As she should.
My leg was clearly gravely injured.
Possibly broken.
Possibly beyond repair.
Perhaps...
I looked down at it.
No.
Surely not.
But one must consider all possibilities.
I might lose the leg.
I suddenly felt rather tired.
Was I cold?
I believed I might be cold.
Was my vision becoming dim?
Difficult to say.
Big Human...
If this is the end...
please ensure the Official Household Records are properly preserved.
Tell Lil Human I—
Big Human picked me up.
Apparently we were going somewhere.
Immediately.
The emergency veterinarian.
Yes.
Quite right.
There was no time to waste.
We arrived at the emergency medical facility where professionals were informed of my harrowing wilderness ordeal and potentially catastrophic injury.
They attempted to examine my leg.
I informed them that this would not be happening.
One touched it.
I objected.
Another attempted.
I objected more firmly.
They tried again.
Absolutely not.
Eventually, the medical staff reached the same alarming conclusion as Big Human:
My leg might be broken.
I knew it.
Tragic.
A promising life interrupted at its peak.
There was talk of X-rays.
Further examination.
Sedation.
Sedation?
Very well.
If these people intended to save my life, I supposed sacrifices would have to be made.
Big Human handed me over.
I looked back at her as I was carried away.
Be brave, Big Human.
I shall attempt to do the same.
Some time later...
I awoke.
My leg had been shaved.
It had been thoroughly cleaned.
Medication had been administered.
X-rays had been taken.
And the medical professionals had finally determined the extent of the devastating injury suffered during my courageous expedition through the Wild.
My leg...
was not broken.
There were no fractured bones.
No shattered joints.
No catastrophic damage.
Instead, buried beneath my fur, they had discovered...
...
a small puncture wound.
Most likely from a thorn.
I stared at the medical staff.
They stared at me.
A thorn?
Surely there had been some mistake.
Had they examined the correct leg?
I had been unable to walk.
I had nearly succumbed to my injuries.
I had prepared Big Human for the possibility of my untimely demise.
And now they were suggesting...
shrubbery?
Apparently so.
The offending area was shaved and flushed.
I was given antibiotics as a precaution.
Pain medication was prescribed.
Naturally.
One cannot be expected to recover from such an ordeal entirely unaided.
Then Big Human received something called...
the bill.
I observed her face.
Oh.
Oh dear.
Apparently determining that one's leg is not broken requires a rather extraordinary amount of human currency.
Four digits of it, in fact.
I chose not to inquire further.
This seemed like an administrative matter.
And frankly, Big Human should have anticipated medical expenses when she accepted responsibility for such an important member of the household.
We returned to the Estate.
My wilderness career was officially over.
I was placed in my preferred location on the recliner...
in Big Human's lap.
A blanket was provided.
Pain medication began taking effect.
Dinner arrived.
Ordinarily, I am perfectly capable of feeding myself.
Obviously.
However, given the severity of my recent...
thorn-related trauma...
I determined that rehabilitation required certain accommodations.
Big Human spoon-fed me.
I accepted.
Slowly.
Bravely.
One bite at a time.
Afterward, I settled deeper into her lap.
My injured leg carefully positioned.
My belly full.
Big Human's arms around me.
I began to purr.
The Estate was quiet.
Warm.
Safe.
I closed my eyes.
Perhaps being King of the Wild was overrated.
A proper monarch requires a palace.
A throne.
A devoted staff.
Excellent medical care.
And, following particularly strenuous expeditions...
room service.
Yes.
This was much better.
Within minutes, I was deeply asleep.
Purring comfortably in Big Human's lap.
My leg remained attached.
My dignity...
mostly intact.
And the Wild?
The Wild could remain exactly where it belonged.
On the other side of the glass.
Marlowe's Journal
Leadership occasionally requires sacrifice.
Today, I sacrificed several patches of leg fur, my afternoon, and approximately four digits of Big Human's currency.
The medical professionals have classified the injury as a minor puncture wound.
I have classified it as a near-fatal wilderness incident.
History may decide.
For now, recovery shall require rest, medication, and continued spoon-feeding.
Doctor's orders.
...
More or less.