It was a few days before we brought our cat, Alex, in to have his tail amputated. He was frantically scratching and biting at the tumor on his tail. My husband, Marc, and I attempted to stop him from further hurting himself by putting a cone on him. He wasn’t happy, and neither were we. In fact, we were worried sick.
Marc and I were sitting at our dining room table, both pounding away on our laptops. Every few seconds, my laptop fell silent as I scratched at my irritated, sore, and peeling lips.
“What are you doing?” Marc asked, as he spied me scratching and picking for the millionth time in about five minutes.
“Nothing,” I sheepishly replied.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Stop scratching. You are making it worse.”
“I can’t help it. It really itches.”
“Do I need to get a cone for you too? You know, they make large ones for dogs that would fit you just fine!”