I’m back in Germany but here’s a short update on Puggie, as he is now known throughout the western Algarve. He’s managed to move something – from his bowels, actually. I’ve never seen so much joy over a little piece of shit but it shows that he’s getting back to normal. he’s eating and drinking, spitting whenever anyone comes near and darting around the room like a trembling clockwork mouse. I think I’ve worked out why: he’s only been able to see for a couple of days and his sound-filled horror world is now one where he can see the horrors as well. From the giant monsters that keep picking him up and trying to say sweet things in his little ear to the room where he’s kept captive, he is a prisoner of war and, like all those incarcerated, he’s innocent and wants out. He’s now the chairman of the escape committee.
But, he can’t be let out before the antibiotics have worked and if he did get out, our dogs would eat him in seconds. If he survived being eaten alive, he’d cower in some dark crevice and starve to death, so for the time being, he is in solitary. But when the door is opened, he moves like lightning. He can see the outside world and his one eye says ‘enough already – let me free!’ Cry freedom in feline form.
Our next door neighbour, Mino, has agreed to take him when he’s better. She’s a cat person and I think she breeds them for breaking and entering, like some kind of Lusitanian Fagin. She has a few others but has never bothered to count them; they come, they go. At least little Puggie will have friends.
It’s all worked out rather well, says Luis, very pleased with himself.