Earlier this week, my handsome little man took a long procrastinated trip to the vet for his shots and a check-up. Whenever we took his Uncle Michael, God rest his soul, it was a horrific ordeal. From the first, Michael completely understood what the vet was all about, and the shrieking started as soon as the cat carrier came out and continued on until he was safely home again. Getting him into the carrier was a major task, requiring two people. The drive was a nightmare. Once at the vet, he was adept at making himself almost impossible to remove from the carrier, bracing both his hands and feet against the door and sticking fast with all his strength. He snarled and scratched at the vet, and so had to be taken into the back and put in the stocks just to be looked at – to say nothing of having his temperature taken. We sat in the waiting room, me mortified and annoyed, Rebecca tearful and sympathetic, and the other patient's families gaping in disbelief at the screams emanating from the treatment area. All this has led to very negative feelings on my part about cat doctor visits. But alas, sometimes, it has just to be done.
I got out the carrier the evening before so that Tobias could not slither into the basement and hide just as we were getting ready to go. In the morning, I confined the two of us to a small part of the house so that he could not secrete himself upstairs, where he has several favorite crannies. I put the carrier on my dining room table with the door open for easier insertion. When the time came, I couldn’t find him! Growling, I checked his usual nooks, but he was in none of them. Finally, I glanced into the cat-carrier, and there he was, looking calm and comfy! All I had to do was close the carrier door.
At the vet, he was a real gentleman, stepping out of the carrier when he was supposed to, and back in when it was time to go. He did, at one point, leap to the top of a high bookshelf. I had to stand on a chair to get him down. But other than that, he was a perfect boy. He was even polite, when the vet said those words we all hate to hear from our doctor --- “He could stand to lose a little weight!” I think he is perfect, just as he is. And he knows it.
"Thank goodness that's over," he says. Actually, that's what I say too.
The two Michael Ryans
Michael was a very good cat, as long as he wasn't going to the vet.