The Patient

A few weeks ago, Harley needed to sleep something off. Or so we thought. When she continued to be a bit unperky after a few days, we started to look for indications what could be wrong. She ate, drank, visited the litter-box, groomed herself. All normal. Her fur; shiny. Her eyes; clear. No yellowness, no third eyelid showing.
Hmmm.
We poked, prodded. Looked at her feet, her claws, the pads. Her ears, her nose, her tail.

We couldn't figure it out.

Then she started to walk with a limb. What the ...?

We poked and prodded again.
In the evening we let her into the bedroom where she'd climb on top of me to trample in my hair and make herself into a pancake kitty. I'd pet her and see if she would meep if I came across something that hurt.

Nothing.

So last night the Beloved took her to the vet.
And she had a fracture on the right side of her pelvis. And it's practically healed already.
So, they gave her a steroid shot, fawned over her cuteness (she IS stinkin' cute, that one) and that was it.

This morning, she was perky. When I came home she was crazy perky. And now she's sitting on top of the litter-box because we told her she can't jump on stuff.

Roid rage is just around the corner.