My poor kitty. I don't know when it happened, but when I woke up yesterday morning, I found my cat with paws full of weed thorns. Awful little inch to quarter inch long stickers that weren't quite cactus needles. I started awkwardly pulling them out with tweezers until his howls woke up my roommates, who then came to help me. Together we found and pulled more than two dozen painful needles from Tom's feet. One went all the way through his paw, we thought it was just stuck into the top of his foot, but after we pulled it out, the bottom of his foot started gushing blood. He even had these thorns stuck into his legs and belly. I was at work yesterday freaking out that one of them had pierced his heart or lung, and that he was slowly dying on my bed. When I got home he seemed a little out of it- drained, but not in extreme pain or agitation. This morning he was back to his old self. Demanding attention, meowing, jumping into the bathtub, etc.; his normal morning routine.
He was such a good cat throughout the whole ordeal. Not once, while we were tweezering splinters, did he hiss or scratch or bite. He howled, yes. He squirmed and flinched, yes. But I didn't get a single scratch during the whole 30 minute procedure. Such a good cat. My poor kitty.