. . . at about 23:00 the night before Christmas eve. She made it. Her left fore-leg was de-gloved and we've been changing old-school sugar bandages for weeks. Andif you didn't already know, lemme tell ya: rotting cat flesh is disgusting.
But we're past that now. These days her wound is scabby enough to be left open, but she still has to wear the cone of shame. None of us are happy about this, least of all Culpepper, who has to put up with a sick Rosie 24/7 from now on. This results in a lot of anxious darting and hiding.
Still. Worth it.
I suppose.
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