This little guy gave us the scare of our lives today.
He was so manic starting at 4 a.m. that we put him in his carrier for a few hours until we were ready to wake up. We let him out and went on with our usual morning activities.
Mike went downstairs and got to work on the remaining dishes from dinner last night. I stayed upstairs on the computer. The next thing I know, I hear the rustling of cardboard, a thump, and silence. Then Mike’s voice: "oh my god, Kirby, what did you do?"
He fell. From the ledge at the top of our open staircase. Climbed over the cardboard we had put up as a barrier to prevent just this thing from happening, and dropped, probably 8-10 feet, landing on one of the lower wooden stairs. On his back. The little guy got up and ran like hell, hiding out inside our kitchen table, tail all poofed out, while Mike and I basically freaked out. (Well, I freaked out *way* more than Mike).
I coaxed him out of the table and he ran upstairs, so we followed him, wanting to make sure he was okay. We checked him out thoroughly and didn’t feel anything wrong – all his bones seemed intact, his belly was still tender, and after we all calmed down a bit, he proceeded to eat, drink, frolic and play just like he usually does. He’s not hiding or showing any signs of discomfort or distress, he’s letting us poke at him, pick him up and touch him like normal, and he has been alert and responsive to all of it.
It was around 60 again today and all of our windows and skylights were open, so he was probably extra hyper because of that, but he really seems fine. He didn’t go down for a nap until probably 5 p.m. We’ve been keeping a close eye on him and haven’t seen any reason so far to try to find an emergency vet who is open on Sundays here (our regular vet is not) – hopefully we won’t have to, and he’s just one very, VERY lucky little cat.