A few short months ago, we were approached by a new cat. This sort of thing is not that unusual, as we live in Greece. The kitten had cat flu, which has a high mortality rate. Also, it can affect the joints in the cat’s body and as a result she walked like John Wayne, so we called her Bandy. She was also calling for her mother a lot. She was distressed, skinny, and very young. At first, we gave her some water, and then some food. We made a bed for her in our greenhouse, so she at least had a place to stay that was warm and dry. We then advertised her on our community website, in the hope someone would come forward and collect her. We already have three cats, and the pecking order was being ruthlessly established, despite her inability to defend herself.

She got better, and within a week was bouncing around like a mad thing. The other cat’s stepped up their campaign, attacking her as often as they could, but still she stayed. She became the comical cat, the most unusual cat we have ever had, and we have had several over the years. We decided to keep her.

A few days ago, I was chatting online with my wife. She had returned to the UK for a few weeks, and while we were chatting I heard what I thought to be a cat fight. I feel quite protective of Bandy now, so I excused myself from the conversation, and dashed outside. As I approached the back path, I saw Bandy along with her arch-enemy, Gorbs, another of our cats, who particularly hates her. Bandy dashed past me for the safety of the house. If Gorbs could whistle, as if to say, it wasn’t me, then she would have. I urged her to go away, and she got the message; I was very angry.

When I returned to the house, Bandy was panting, her tongue was sticking out, her chest heaving. I have never seen anything quite like it. I started to chat with my wife again, telling her the news, the symptoms. She began searching for the cause online, while I checked on the cat. Bandy began staggering, unable to walk. I lifted her up and placed her gently on the sofa, her favourite place.

I returned to the computer, and talked to Pauline, keeping one eye on the screen, and one on the cat. Then Bandy just flopped, motionless. I said to Pauline, ‘I think Bandy is in trouble. Have you got the number for the vet?’ She replied, ‘Hang on, I will call her.’

I didn’t want to check on Bandy, I must admit, but I did. She was still breathing, thankfully. The vet said she could not see her until 7pm. It was midday. I sat with Bandy all day while she rested, it seemed to soothe her, to help her sleep. The vet had said that if it was a snake bite, then it could be bad news.

I put Bandy in the cat box and drove to Finikounda to meet the vet. During the journey, two puncture wounds appeared on her leg, oozing red pus. The vet told me I was right to bring Bandy, because the wounds would have created cysts, and yes, the bite was from a snake. There are many types of snakes in Greece, some poisonous. Three antibiotic shots later, a lot of tender loving care, and protection from the big bad world,  her massively swollen chicken leg now looks normal. The other cats still hate her of course. Bloody cats!