My Dad used to call cats like Tulla "peanut butter cats" because it looked like they had their head stuck in a peanut butter jar.
My Dad was an amazing man. He never finished high school, but could fix anything.
Once we had a little grey cat that was playing with another sitting in the seat of a wooden chair. He was sticking his paw up between slats to one side, by the frame if you will--and got it stuck.
It became frightened and started doing flips--and broke its forelimb.
My Dad didn't take it to the vet. Once, I had gotten my pinky caught in a door near the hinges, and required a splint. He saved that splint for years, and used that, two popsickle sticks and white medical tape to fashion a cast of sorts.
That little cat let him set that leg. I couldn't believe it at the time, but he did it.
The cat got full use of that limb.
The saddest thing was that, a year or two later, it got sick. Well my Dad couldn't do anything about that, so he took Tom to the vet. Before he could even the door open, a kid who looked "a bit slow" walked up to the window and spooked him. That cat clawed my Dad, jumped out of the car, and was never seen again.