(Tom said, "I don't think you'd want someone taking pictures of you when you were like that.")
The kitten is looking pretty good after one vet trip Thursday evening, one to the emergency vet at 4:00 on Friday morning, another to the regular vet at about 9:30 Friday morning, a trip to the critical care clinic at about 10:00 Friday morning (by that time, I was so tired that I had to lie down on the little bench in the examining room even though Gilbert was showing the first signs of being a cat in more than 12 hours). Surgery Friday night, home Saturday afternoon (early, because the people at the clinic said that he was "really unhappy here"), and all he has to show for it is this collar, plus some stitches.
We are glad to have our kitty home. We are sorry that he has to stay in the downstairs bathroom. ("Try to keep him quiet," the vet said. Gilbert was not paying attention to that.) I have been spending a most unusual amount of time sitting on the floor of said downstairs bathroom. I get the feeling Gilbert thinks it is not enough.
But we are glad to have him home. The moral of the story? Don't eat the red foam puzzle pieces. Stick with the kibbles!