Is "Pee Knuckle" really a word?

"The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out...

The worms play pee knuckle on your snout...

They eat you up and spit you out..."

Last week I had to strap on my "manhood" again and do something I would have rather not. It has taken me well over a week to write this, because only now has the heartache subsided enough to write about it.

2 years ago a misplaced adult male cat wandered onto our farm. I found him one dark night eating the cat food out of the dish on my back porch. He was a beautiful cat! Long dark striped fur, white belly up to his chin, and 4 white paws, and huge- He must have weighed over 12lbs. As with every new cat that just shows up, I went outside to see if he was friendly. If I can pet them I cop a quick feel (sick- yes, I know) to see if he is carrying a man purse. I prefer to have males around than females. Less kittens that way!

Anyway, ever since that day he never left my porch. I named him "Socks". Yes, I know- How original. He was so friendly. Heck he even tolerated standard toddler abuse. Toddler abuse gives new meaning to "heavy petting"! Nice kitty- *mash, mash*. Because he was so friendly I had always wondered where he came from. His fur was in great shape, he was in good weight... He had to be someones house cat. (??)

Socks loved being by us. If we sat outside, he was always at our side. He would always outstretch a paw to get your attention. It was not uncommon to see him in our house sleeping on the back of the couch!

Life went on, and Socks seemed to always be part of it. Except for one time earlier this spring when he suddenly disappeared. I was so worried because he never had left before. Weeks went by and still no Socks. I searched the roadside ditches almost daily, each time coming up empty. I watched the food dish waiting for him to return... no sign of him. I pretty much wrote him off as dead. My husband (who doesn't like cats much to begin with) told me to quit worrying, he came from somewhere and perhaps he just went back home.

Just when I had given up all hope, he returned! He was the same old happy to see you Socks. I told him how much he had me worried (yep- I'm the crazy cat lady) and how happy I was that he had returned. I always wondered where his adventure had taken him...

Again, life went on...

About 4 weeks ago Socks started getting a cold. Not uncommon around here with the cats. It seems that they get some kind of "cold" once a year. I find it usually when the major seasons start to change, and the nights are more damp and cold from dew. I just kept my eye on him waiting for it to run its course- like I have seen it do in other cats. Socks started to get more and more congested. I could hear him in the grass coughing. I get so frustrated because unlike other forms of livestock, cats are really tricky to treat. Either my medications don't break down into small enough doses for cats, or it is poisonous to them and could kill them instead of cure them.

He continued to get worse and worse. I was really starting to worry. So I jumped on the Internet to see if there was ANYTHING I could do for him. I ended up giving him an injection of Penicillin. And I waited another day... No improvement. So I gave him another dose. And I waited... He was still so sick. By this time his robust body shrunk down to nothing but fur and bones. His fur lacked its usual luster, and he was still so congested.

His worst day came on the day we started constructing our pig shelter. He was laying flat out in the grass by the gate to the steers pasture, and every time we opened the gate- He was so weak he wouldn't get out of the way for the gate. I didn't want the gate to hit him so I picked him up and moved him out of the way. He had lost so much weight. I bet he was down to 6lbs or less. He was so weak he could hardly move out of his flat position. When I looked into his eyes I knew just how bad things had become. His third eyelid was halfway across his eyes- A sign I have seen before on a cat before it dies. He smelled so bad. He didn't smell like urine or feces, it was more like a pungent sour smell. When I laid him down on the grass my daughter was kneeling beside me. She too noticed his "smell". I lifted up his tail to see if he was soiled and to see if that was where the smell was coming from.

What we saw was horrifying. We saw millions of white small (smaller than white rice) maggots around his anus area. Because of the long fur on his tail, we never saw them before. The only thing I could think of was that he was so sick, he wasn't pottying right and perhaps getting it all over his back end- Thus attracting flies. My daughter thought it was gross, and went off to do other things. My husband was "too busy" to muster up any advice other than to kill him because who knows what he has and he can make everything else sick.

I ran to the house to grab some rubber gloves, some paper towel, and some warm water to wash his bum. I had also mixed up some sheep milk replacer to try to give him with an oral syringe to get some fluids into him. I sat down on the grass next to him and opened his mouth to give him some fluids. He barely could swallow. After a few cc's worth of fluid I looked at him closer. Those worms were crawling around in his nasal cavity and all around inside his mouth. I started to cry to myself because I knew I had been too late and there was nothing that I could do for him. There Socks and I were, all alone sitting in the grass. Neither daughter nor husband could bother to take time out of their precious day to lend a hand.

So I talked to him and stroked his head. He looked up at me with his glassed over eyes and started to pur. I told him what a grand cat he was and how much he was loved. I told him how sorry I was, and how I should have fixed him.

Then I quietly stood up.

Through my tears I walked back to the house, went to my bedroom and got my gun. Through my tears I loaded it. Through my tears I pulled the trigger. Through my tears I buried him in the special part of my yard reserved just for grand souls like his.