Bad kitty goes to the vet

Gracie was a very bad kitty this week. She had her annual trip to the veterinarian Wednesday. My husband was conveniently out of town that day so my friend, Julie, helped with the ordeal.

The first problem is that Gracie absolutely hates being touched unless she initiates it. The second problem is that she detests car rides even more than she dislikes being touched.

She does like people. When I picked her up and handed her to Julie, she cuddled like she had been reunited with a long-lost friend. Then she struggled to get down when she realized we were going to take her out of the nice, safe house and put her in the scary car.

She quivered and meowed all the way to her appointment. By the time we got there Julie knew why I needed help to get a such a small animal across town.

As luck would have it, he was running late. Gracie wiggled and shed until Julie was covered in enough cat hair to make a small kitten. The feline was so wrapped up in her fear I don’t think she even noticed when a small girl tiptoed over and stroked her long fur.

Then things went from bad to worse. After we finally got into the examining room we turned the cat loose while the vet attended to some other business. Gracie promptly hid behind some file folders on the floor. He had to drag her out of there and she didn’t like it one bit.

He was about half-way through his examination when she decided she had enough. She turned around, showed all of her needle-sharp teeth and hissed at him! If he hadn’t had a good grip on her she would have taken his arm off. I felt sure we were going to get charged extra for bad manners but he assured us that he had one other patient that day that was crankier than Gracie.

I think we were all glad when the visit was over and we were safely back home. An hour later, Gracie was writhing on the floor demanding that I rub her tummy. At least she doesn’t hold a grudge.

There have been many times when I felt the same dread of a dentist visit as Gracie feels about going to the vet. My dentist says I am the most terrified of any of his patients. He swears that he can make it easier if I would let him give me drugs or shots to ease the hurt and apprehension.

I am certain that any medication he offers will have no more effect than candy while being much more expensive. The thought of needles in my mouth causes more trepidation than the thought of anything he could possibly do. Besides, what is the point of enduring more pain when the numbing agent will have no effect? I’d rather he just do what needs to be done and get it over with as soon as possible.

I may be deathly afraid of dentists but I don’t have the same fear of doctors. I don’t go to doctors often enough for them to remember my name. Even so, there have been many times when I felt like acting like Gracie did. Every time I go for a mammogram I would rather hide on the floor behind some file folders than let them clamp me into that evil machine. When they snug it down I would love to hiss at them and show my teeth but they would probably just tighten the machine some more while commanding me to hold my breath. Then they would throw me in the loony bin because it isn’t considered polite for people to hiss at other people.

I honestly don’t think Gracie was being hurt in any way when she staged her protest. She was simply warning the man that her dignity had taken enough battering and she wanted him to stop.

Gracie doesn’t have to leave the house again for another year. I hope by then she will learn that having strangers mess with her isn’t so bad and that the anticipation is worse than the actual exam.[[In-content Ad]]