I whisk her to the emergency vet and a couple of hours later we come home with a bandaged tail, an e-collar, and lots of meds. Houdini (aka Phoebe) managed to wriggle her way out of the e-collar in her crate during the 10 minute ride home. A crate that is so small she can barely turn around in it. My very own little Criss Angel had escaped her cone. I wrangle it back onto her (which I would liken to wrestling with a greased up pig. Not that I have ever wrestled a pig...greased or otherwise. It's just what I think it would be like. Only my pig has claws and sharp teeth to add to the enjoyment). Phoebe crouched in a corner and growled for a while before she tried walking around. This is when I learned that my cat has absolutely zero depth perception as she repeatedly walked straight into the wall with her lampshade necklace. And then growled at the wall for being there. I carried her upstairs so that we could hopefully get some sleep.
I was not prepared for the bloody crime scene that existed upstairs. There were blood splatters on the walls, spots on the carpet, and I don't even want to discuss my bed. But since all of the spots were right along the baseboards, I imagine this is what it would look like if Barbie met a violent end. I needed Horatio Ken to investigate what had taken place upstairs. Just as I am recreating the crime, Phoebe comes in and sits in front of me...no cone, no bandage, and a freshly bloodied tail. And I had only left her in the bedroom for 5 minutes.
I called the emergency vet again:
Me: Um, hi, I was just there with my cat who eats her tail...and she is evidently Houdini reincarnated. She is now being all crouching tiger and pouncing on her tail. Can I try some sedatives until I can get her to the regular vet in the morning?
Vet: This is your cat on sedatives.
Me: Oh. I'd hate to see her on uppers....
So off we go back to the emergency vet so she can stay the night locked up tight in a cage. I expected them to call me and say that my escape artist had broken her chains, but all was well when I picked her up.
Now she is at our regular vet. When she comes home her tail will be a bit shorter with fewer self inflicted puncture wounds. And some anti-anxiety meds that I have to have specially compounded into a paste so that I can just rub it on her ears ("specially compounded" is just a fancy way of saying "uber-expensive").
On the bright side, Bailey is enjoying her Phoebe free home today.
Merry Christmas Mom! I got you hundreds of dollars in vet fees for Christmas!