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A Well-Kitty Visit
There are perks to having your vet live next door. For instance, she might suddenly show up at your house with a couple of doses of deworming medicine because she’d heard a rumor that your kitten, recently adopted from the shed on your property, had certain problems. Then she might insist on giving him the first dose herself, expertly prying open his mouth to squirt in the liquid. Or, she might offer to drive him in for his neutering appointment and not fuss if it didn’t even cross your mind to provide a carrier for the trip. And she’d report that his behavior had charmed the ladies who worked at her office. He’d been “a ham,” and if we ever wanted to rehome him, there were a couple of women lined up to take him off our hands.
Despite this convenient service, sadly, last week we still had to drive about 25 minutes to take our two-year-old cat in for his rabies vaccination update and checkup. That house visit spigot is not on indefinitely. But fortunately, my daughters were ready to take on this chore. I watched the proceedings with interest. Weeks earlier, my younger daughter had purchased a small carrier for just such occasions–no more wiring laundry baskets together. She brought the carrier in a few hours before the appointment and set it in the living room. Good idea, I said. Then he can get used to it. He sniffed around the little cage, and even went inside, according to the girls.
Their grand exit went far differently than I thought it would, and it was a rewarding watch. I did think the store-bought conveyance a little cramped, and apparently, the girls thought so, too, because when they got ready to go, they didn’t try to coax him into the cage. Instead, they got out his purple harness and leash. This may sound ridiculous, but he loves the sight of that leash, and when we even just open the plastic drawer where it’s kept, he starts meowing and pulling it out himself. The leash means he’s going for a walk. He barely tolerates the snapping on of the harness, trying to wiggle out and flopping down on the floor, but he purrs the whole time, meanwhile making honest efforts to nip his benefactress’s hands.
Finally, outside after the harness sideshow, the girls took him on a little faux walk, letting him eat some grass and roll on the ground (those two activities account for most of his outdoor time). One of them had started the car—we were having a heatwave—so that the air conditioning could run for a while. Next was the moment where everything would fall apart, and someone was going to get scratched, or worse: they put him in the car. Would he be stuffed into the carrier now? No, they were letting him wander about inside the vehicle. And what was this? I could see clearly that he’d settled into the back window, looking relaxed, even expectant as he gazed behind the car. Even as they backed out and then disappeared in a swirl of dust down our road, I could see him surveying the view with his chest on his forelegs, just as if he were reposing on his folded blanket in our air-conditioned living room. It must have been roasting in that sedan.
A short time later, the girls pulled up in the driveway and emerged with the white cat, still leashed, still looking grand with his royal purple harness (but also somewhat dingy after his ecstatic pre-trip roll outside). They reported that Dash had happily explored the exterior of the vet’s office on the end of his leash before they carried him inside, his entrance causing a ripple in the waiting room. Fellow pet owners thought him a big animal. During the appointment, he’d not appreciated some of the proceedings, including being picked up and prodded, and showed his disapproval with hissing and biting. A salmon paste treat was soon produced, calming down everyone in the room who enjoyed such fare. The vet then patted the windowsill, and our cat responded to the invitation by leaping up and staring out at the field of waving grass that stretched away on that side of the building.
Then the vet’s assistant delivered her analysis. Last year, the vet had warned us in low tones that Dash might become “a little . . . rotund” after getting neutered. This year, the assistant’s verdict was, “I wouldn’t tell anyone else this, but he’s about the handsomest cat who came in today. But also the spiciest.”
And healthy . . . I’m sure he’s healthy, too.
Still frazzled from being prodded by strangers, here is Dash on the dash.
And here is Dash during one of his finer moments, during a fall photo shoot.
Aww. I needed that on a Monday morning before my coffee kicks in.
Great post!
I wish our vet lived next door. She’s pretty hot. Then again, all women are when you’re my age . . .
One of your best!
What a welcome treat – thank you!
Just look at those ears. This is a cat who is doing his job, being a cat just as hard as he can. Go get ’em, l’il dude.
Except, his hearing is not that great. Neither is his vision. Which could explain why Mom abandoned him. Small gene pool in our neighborhood–his abandoned sibling had the same interesting purple sheen over his eyes. He doesn’t know anything about this, though, and we don’t tell him. He thinks he is a great cat, all cylinders functioning.
Yup. If he doesn’t ask, there’s no need to tell him about his questionable lineage.
Dash looks like a cool dude!
I wish my doctor would give me salmon paste treats when I have to make an office visit….
I saw the doctor this morning and I got nuffin.
Maybe we need to start hissing and biting…
Cue Harvey Korman saying, “Nuffin, eh?”
A Dash of Spiciness, eh? Cute.
That should be plenty.