While washing the morning dishes, I spotted Misty straining away in our grassy area. She looked normal to me and I made a mental note to pick up the poo before watering the yard. An hour later I toddled out back to accomplish my almost forgotten task. I picked up the poo and spotted a silver dollar size reddish-black blob. I thought, “Hmm,” and retreated to the house to answer Tyoma’s squall.
As I changed diapers, I began to ruminate over the spot, wondering if it was blood. I plopped my freshly dressed baby into his playpen and dashed outside, q-tip in hand. It was definitely blood. Since Misty seemed unperturbed, I searched for reasons to account for the mucousy blood. Drawing a blank, I quickly consulted our giant book of veterinary care, which suggested an immediate call to the vet’s office.
I called. The alarmed receptionist said to keep a close eye on Misty, and to bring her straight in if she voided anymore blood. In the meantime, the she would find an afternoon spot for an appointment. Ten minutes later, the answer to my question made an appearance. The sleek young cat that haunts our property looked desperately unwell, retching on an adjoining fence. He vomited the bloody spot. I felt tremendously relieved yet sad for the unknown owners of the cat.