Unreasonable Cat

by Linda

Aaaaaah, the memories! Two years ago I injured my back, so last year both my kitties had to be taken to their annual physicals by a lady unable to carry them or their little carriers. Ever resourceful, I rigged up my bundle buggy to be comfy and escape-proof for the three-block trip -- cardboard floor, roof (with a little locking mechanism) and walls (with cute little windows) -- and made the two appointments.

Trip One with Buster:

That boy is docile but part-Siamese so he sat obediently in the bundle buggy morosely peeking out the adorable little custom-made windows HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWLing his despair. Block one of the trip, all my neighbours came out to laugh and to join him in his song. Block two, a feisty octogenarian started chasing me with her cane screaming obscenities about what should be done to animal abusers and how much of it she'd like to do personally if only she were in better health. I escaped with the phrase "In my day, young lady," ringing in my ears like a curse. Block three, I am initiating conversations with each and every person I encounter to let them know I love my cat and we are only going a few doors down the road for a check-up. We get there and, although I tell my horror story and warn them someone may still be after me, all goes well. He's examined minutely (and without any sung accompaniment) and pronounced to be in perfect health.

Trip Two with The Princess Estonia:

I have warned all my friends and neighbours and the local businesspersons of the date and time of the trip, per their request, and they are all lined up excitedly. The trip in the buggy, however, is uneventful. Her Highness is rather fond of being transported in this fashion and fair delighted with all the attention her regal outing has attracted which strikes her, in any case, as her due. Block one, block two, block three, and all is well. We go into the clinic and she is so totally sweet and adorable (being Buster's nonSiamese parent) that I take her out and cuddle her while we await our turn. Everyone beams. What a delightful kitty! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Delightful! Not like the ordeal I had last week with her son! No, this is just a wonderful day and my cat is delightful! It's almost our turn, and we can wait in the examing room. Wonderful! Delightful! In we go, to the ooooohs and aaaahs of all we survey. The Princess now takes up residence upon the examination table and serenely gazes around her new premises. The door opens and Estonia turns into an X-Files demon kitty. She bolts to the shelving precariously fixed to the wall about eight feet away, climbs the delicate shelving knocking its medicinal contents everywhere, then is literally at the ceiling when she goes flying over our heads, with the floor near the door she came in through as her goal, and then its round and round and round the room, up on chairs and between our legs and around and around and no one can get a glove on her. I am in shock. The poor vet is in shock. The room is destroyed. I mean destroyed. And she's not slowing down. I wonder what to do or what to say but the vet has an observation to make. With one hand leaning on the examining table, she places her other arm around my shoulder and soothingly says, "Well, first of all, she's obviously the picture of health."

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