Mrrrr Friends,
It’s been a rough few sun and moon cycles for this furry black cat. Things were copasetic. The changing weather, nights cold enough to wake to light frost, and the leaves turning, took me to my Zen cat place. Nice chilly nights sleeping on and between my people…coat thickening, no long lectures about black fur dust bunnies. I felt like I had things under control – 30 lb bag of cat food in the freezer, 40 lbs of cat litter, couple cans of special stinky treat. Life was good, I was prepared for what was ahead.
Then somebody – namely Oom – messed up the litter box entirely.
One bright and promising morning, Oom and I go outside for the world’s shortest perambulation. Totally disappointing, she murmured something about needing to vet something and in we went.
Next thing I know I’m getting harnessed up, leash attached, and up and out I go into the waiting car with Boo driving.
It’s been a couple years since I’ve been to a vet. My rabies shot is still good, but I’ve had a little trouble with my right ear and Oom gets a bit paranoid when I’m not in perfect health. That, and she’s been worried I was gonna get my foot stuck in my ear trying to self-diagnose and figure out why things felt funny.
I accept that having a doctor is a good thing for a cat. And I know that I’m gonna be the front man – the sacrificial cat guinea pig – going to the vet before Alex does, to make sure the new one is good enough. But I had made clear to Oom and Boo that I expected high standards to be maintained: we needed a vet as good as my last vet, Dr. Mara in Baraboo, whom I adored. Tough babe vet doctor with a light but firm touch and a heart of gold… How would I ever find another woman vet like her?
So Oom went out to do reconnaissance a month or so ago. Turns out we are fortunate in that the three vets in our immediate vicinity seem highly regarded. Picking was a matter of style and gut. We interviewed neighbors and other cat people. One vet was consistently praised for being very gentle and caring.
So, we were obviously booked to go see HIM.
I walk into the vet’s office on my own four paws. None of this being carried in like some insipid lap cat. I walk in, I announce myself with a firm but polite mrrwow. When asked, I step on the scale…then I sit on the scale…then I usually lay on the scale. I own my weight. I let Oom fill out the paperwork, Boo keeps a look out for D-O-G-S.
In the exam room, I’m all business. Given a little respect, I will proffer vocal chords, ears, butt hole, paws…gentle poking and prodding is acceptable.
I got some medicine for my ear…nothing serious just a little gunky buildup.
But someone forgot to tell me about the distemper shot. I can’t shake the feeling when I get one of these shots that they’re trying to give me whatever it is they say they’re trying to protect me from—like a BAD temper! Me, I like my temper just the way it is. While reeling from the sting between my shoulders, I consoled myself by thinking maybe it’s a bit like the birds eating sunflower seeds…I keep wondering when I’m going to see a cardinal with a sunflower growing out of his rear end. That thought kept me busy quite a while.
I got out of the office on all fours okay, but that shot sure made me groggy. I remember a trip to the bank…or was that a dream…me standing in front of the head teller – Cindy – at Champlain National. Was I holding up the bank? Probably not, she seemed like a nice lady.
I remember getting home, getting upstairs and falling asleep in Boo’s study. Oom came up a couple times to make sure I was still breathing. I slept through the day, the night and up to the next morning. I didn’t even eat kibble…so it was serious. I woke up with something a lot like a cat-mint hangover…kind of like a red wine hangover for humans, I think.
In retrospect, the vet seemed okay. He did have a nice touch. I’m not sure he’s used to cats with so much personality, but he and I did make a small wager about my ability to shed a pound by next year. And I do think I should open an account at that bank.
