So I had to take my cat Lucy to the vet. She had been feeling like absolute crap. She was listless and had a terrible case of the skitters. Now getting said cat to the vet is never fun. She has an evil streak in her most of her waking hours. I love her anyway despite her efforts of slit my writs with her claws.
Anyway I got the thrashing ball of fury loaded into her carrier and off we went to the vet as she wailed the song of her people to me from the backseat. Once I got there they shuffled me to a back room and told me to wait. I spoke soothing words and told Lucy how much I loved her. She just cowered in the back of her carrier and glared at me with her ears flattened on her head. I reached a hand in to try to ease her anxiety with a few strokes. Somehow despite owning this cat for 14 years I still think she is a normal feline that enjoys affection. I was wrong. As soon as I opened the little barred door to give her some pets she hissed and spat at me then lurched out all serpentine-like to try and bite me.
While this was going on I heard the vet tech in the hall. “We’ve got a red star cat in room 5. Do we have anyone ready to help?”
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Lucy has been labeled as a bad kid. She’s a red star. I am embarrassed. But honestly as she tries to murder me while I am listening to this I kind of understand. Yet still, I love my devil-cat anyway.
Eventually the vet entered and after a great deal of hissing and attempted bites, which the vet valiantly avoids, she gave Lucy a bunch of shots and special food to eat. I warn the vet this cat is annoyed by change and goes on hunger strikes when we change her food. She assures me this kind of food is magically irresistible to cats. I have my doubts, but I smiled and said, “Ok, we’ll see.”
Then the vet announced that I should bring the cat back to the office once a month for the rest of her life to get a shot of vitamin. B. I just laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding, right? Have you any idea the risk to life and limb it is for both me and the cat to get her here?” I said.
The vet offered some medicine I am supposed to sprinkle over her food before she needs to come in for a shot. Evidently it will magically relax her into submission. I completely believe in better living though chemistry, so anything that can help make these future vet visits easier is good with me.
The tech bravely helped me get Lucy loaded back up to head home. I walk to reception carrying my flailing and spitting box of cat, smiling at the terrified looks from the other animal owners. Then the vet handed me the pill bottle containing the promised exilr. I looked down at the bottle, read the label, and then promptly announced, “Oh I’m on this medicine too.” The vet just stared at me and gave an awkward smirk before leaving me to pay.
Meanwhile I realized I’ve just announced to the entire veteranary office that I am just as crazy as the sputtering angry ball of fur in the cat carrier I’m holding. Awesome. Sounds about right.