Friday, November 18, 2011

One cat, two cats, three cats, four............







NO WAY, NO HOW, YOU CAN'T MAKE ME and as I pushed and shoved the rear end of a 23 pound cat into the cat carrier he planted his front paws and pushed back out again. I tipped the carried on end so he would slide down and into the carrier, he slid and then pushed against the back end, which happened to be unlocked and squeezed his head out.
So, there I am pushing his butt in and watching his head getting squished by the top and bottom of the carrier. I tried to open the back top and bottom to readjust it enough to flip the locking devise when he burst out of it.
So much for taking Louis in to see the vet.
Cleo, sitting on a box nearby, enjoying the show was much easier to grab and shove into the crate. She told me all about her outrage as we drove to the vet. One cat is as good as the other, in my book. I've got an appointment for Cleo on Monday, we can just switch them around.
Cleo, now a mature 13 year old tiny black cat is rather docile. She purrs and rubs her head against my shoulder while we wait, in the vet's office. The technician comes in and starts to reach for Cleo. I back away and suggest that she get someone else to help her. I can tell by the look, in her young eyes, that she thinks I'm a neurotic old lady but I've given her warning. I tell her that Cleo doesn't tolerate strangers very well, new situations very well and has put both Zeus and I in the hospital with a cat bite.
"Unhuh", the Young Thing mummers.
She reaches for Cleo. I hand her off and back towards the door. From somewhere deep inside this 13 pound cat comes a strangled hiss, spit and growl that sends the hair on the back of my neck straight upright.
As I grab hold of the door handle Young Thing shoves Cleo back into the carrier, shouting, "Nice kitty, nice kitty."
There is nothing nice about the sounds emitting from the crate.
I open the door and Young Thing tells me I can wait in the office for the doctor. I tell her no, I'm going out to the waiting room to have a cup of coffee. I want no part of what needs to be done.
I'm not going to be the bad guy here.
Young thing glares at me and then remembers her manners. I close the door and go over to the coffee machine. I'll sit and watch The View while I hear cat yowls coming from behind some closed door.
Once home again, nails clipped, all shots up to date, Cleo emerges from the crate to be inspected by Murphy. "No big deal", she purrs and saunders off to get some food.
Louie peers down the steps at me. As I put my foot on the first step, to go upstairs he scoots off to hide. He doesn't trust me. Not one bit.
But, his turn is on Monday. SURPRISE, SURPRISE LOUIE.
:)Bea

3 comments:

  1. Whatcha gotta do is find someone else to do the dirty work, so to speak.

    My cat (of which my avatar displays so proudly) abosolutely cannot stand my mother, simply because she plays the heavy when it comes to certain things like grooming and trimming her toenails.

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  2. THAT'S why I don't have a cat! LOL

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  3. We work for the cats...and the dirty work is for someone else !!! Peace, Mary Helen

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