Back from the vet.
Physically Oliver is pretty okay, considering. It's obvious Jack had Oliver in his mouth, because I found a missing patch of fur and the skin below had tooth-mark patterns, but the only damage he caused was a small pocket of air beneath the skin. (Medical jargon for 'beneath the skin' is 'subcutaneous'. Yay!) Vet thought he might have a fractured rib, but closer inspection of the X-ray showed there to be none, and the air pocket usually resolves itself, she said.
So he's just really sore, and that air is pretty uncomfortable, but he is okay. Got some pain reliever for him, and some antibiotics, and we have to make sure he urinates and his gums stay pink. And the visit was $127. Oi.
But that's a relief. So I let him go back into hiding when we got safely home. =P
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I suppose I should clarify that I have no idea if Oliver is actually okay. As far as I can tell there are no external injuries, but he has been perfectly still on the couch unless touched below the ribcage, and just recently when I gave him a bowl of milk he backed away from it amid much protestation, so I'm beginning to be concerned he may have some internal ones.
My mother idly mentioned internal injuries, and I immediately went "...oh crap she's right" mentally, thought about it a bit, then suggested we make preemptively sure he's okay inside, rather than take him in later to find out he's been bleeding out the entire time. Mother was a tad preoccupied at first and so balked at the idea, but tore herself away from what she was doing to go look at him, and suddenly agreed.
We're taking him to the vet now, so we should have some news soon.
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Jack tried to eat Oliver today.
It was partially my fault for breaking the separation routine and allowing him the opportunity when I wasn't around to intervene, but he saw the opportunity and he leapt at it. Now Oliver is terrified and furious, his chest is covered in either dog saliva or urine (or both), and he has hidden himself under the back of the computer table, far out of the scrabbling reach of a dog, and won't eat or drink or be consoled. He's allowing himself to be petted, but growls while I do. He has started to absently wash himself, so I'm thinking he's going to start calming down soon, but unless I reach down and interact with him he doesn't move.
As far as Jack is concerned, he is permanently out of my good graces. He will not be allowed back in the house for the duration of our period of keeping him sheltered, and he will be leaving this house as soon as can be arranged, whether he is adopted, given away, sent to the Animal Shelter, euthanised, or taken out to a back road and shot. I will not harbor a cat-killer in the house where I live, fondness for breed and/or temperament notwithstanding.
I'm probably going to spend a good portion of the rest of today keeping near Oliver and talking to him. Overcoming this new obstacle is going to be a serious test of my animal-handling skills.
