The wound has healed nicely. Fur now grows back atop his head—almost as though nothing happened. Amazing how care and attention work magic in such cases. Still, one need only look closely to see the old damage, the scars, the somehow misshapen contour of his skull.
His overall health and demeanor have improved. Stable food and water, reliable affection, and constant shelter seem to bring out the best in life, seem to empower the recovering essence within every living thing.
He defends the patio as though it were his personal domain. But only from violent interlopers. Psiwa comes and goes at will, unchallenged. Their gentle natures appear complementary. The same is true for others, some as yet unnamed or unintroduced, but only those with kindred spirits.
He struggles with simple things despite his improvement. A shake of the head, a movement altogether common for most animals, renders him unstable, sometimes falling, sometimes held upright on legs threatening to splay in all directions so as to leave him flat upon the ground. Stretches? They work sometimes; other times they present a form so uncontrolled as to be laughable—were it not so heartbreaking.
I speak of al-Zill, of course.
Although I’m on call this week, something that makes my schedule unpredictable at best, I believe my first opportunity to capture him will come this weekend. Let’s hope so, for these times are few and far between.
[he rarely stays in the carrier when I’m on the patio; normally he rushes to greet me, giving me head butts and rubs and all manner of love, purring all the while as he talks to me as though we’ve known each other for decades; the first opportunity I have to grab him in this state—when I can then dash him off to the vet for treatment and examination—must be seized with fanatic fervor]
