96: The Vet Visit

96: The Vet Visit

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Cat Did What?

The Vet Visit

My cat does not talk as respectfully to me as I do to her.

~Colette

I don’t know why I get elected to do all the “fun” stuff at our house, but that seems to be the case. For instance, I am always the one who has to take the animals to the vet for their checkups and shots. When it was time for our cat to make that trip, I spent several days dreading the task. But finally, I decided to square my shoulders and get it done.

“Cat” is what we call the black and white shorthaired feline who adopted us some seven years ago after turning up on our front porch one October night. She actually does have a “real name” — it’s Mary Catherine — but no one ever calls her that.

Since Cat is very seldom sick or in need of medical attention, trips to the veterinarian have been few over the years. That’s a good thing because Cat is not one to be trifled with when it comes to things she doesn’t like to do. And going to the vet is definitely one of those things.

Knowing I would have to resort to trickery to even get Cat in the carrier for the car ride, I first placed her favorite rug and a couple of cat treats inside, then set it on the floor with the door open. I nonchalantly walked away, but hid behind the door to watch. Since Cat is curious, as most cats are, she soon began sniffing around the little cage. In only a few minutes, she had walked into the carrier, whereupon I quickly shut the door.

That’s when she let me know what she thought of my deception by emitting the first howl from hell. I am not kidding, she actually sounded like a demon cat in some Stephen King horror movie. I was almost afraid to even pick up the carrier in case she somehow managed to charge the door and escape. But she stayed safely inside, although she continued to screech and hiss all the way to the veterinarian’s office. To say she was unhappy is definitely an understatement.

When it was her turn to be seen, I warned the vet that Cat was not your typical kitty.

“She’s not one to cuddle and purr,” I said. “And when I get her out, she is going to be one angry cat.”

Sure enough, when I opened the cage, she exploded onto the exam table like a big furry bomb with claws and teeth bared. The vet’s assistant managed to grab her before she hit the floor, but she bucked and jumped, hissed and hollered like some possessed creature. The assistant held on, however, although I’m not sure just how, and the doctor was able to do an exam. Two injections were called for, and if we thought Cat had gone wild BEFORE the shots, we had seen nothing. When she felt the first needle, in her shoulder, she became even more enraged. She puffed up so big, she actually seemed to double in size. However, the assistant aptly kept her in place without being clawed to pieces. After the second shot, we managed to stuff her back in the cage, where she continued to loudly let us know just how unhappy she really was.

The whole thing was over and done with in only a matter of minutes, and soon Cat and I were on our way back home — with her hollering loudly all the way.

When we reached the house, I set the cage on the living room floor and opened the door. I was prepared for a mad dash from the carrier, but she surprised me. Instead of being a crazed and frantic feline, she just quietly walked out, looked around, then went to her favorite spot beneath the dining room table.

When I checked on her later, she was leisurely attending to her personal hygiene duties. After all, an ordeal like that takes its toll on a gal’s appearance.

~Anna B. Ashley

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