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Mac and the Vet

by David Yehudah, Bellflower, CA, USA


I took Mac to the vet's today to get his shots caught up.

A woman came into the waiting room while I was sitting there. She had a gorgeous, huge, silver-gray Persian with her. The woman herself was about my age, with her blue-rinsed hair piled in curls on her head, and she was dressed in an expensive, old-fashioned flowery print dress covered with figured, sheer gauzy material. Heels and nice stockings completed her ensemble.

The cat got very nervous when she saw Mac and started squirming and hissing at him. Mac just grinned his big doggy grin and wagged his tail at her. Neither she nor the lady were impressed with his friendly demeanor, so the receptionist escorted us into an examining room.

Mac may not seem like it, but he has a lot of dignity, and he doesn't like undue familiarity. He really hates people trying to make him do things he doesn't want to do. So you can imagine his reaction when the tech came in and rudely shoved a thermometer up where the sun don't shine. It was all I could do to hold him as he snarled and snapped at me and the tech.

His hackles were still up when the vet checked him over, and when I got a grip on him as she approached with the needle, he almost came unglued. That was the maddest mutt you've ever seen. So the vet called the tech, and they proceeded to give him the full mad-dog treatment.

They tried to put a muzzle on him, but it was adjusted too small; so they took it off, adjusted it larger, and tried again. It was still too small. This time when the tech took it off, Mac started barking and snarling and snapping at any and everybody. We didn't realize how strong he was to be so small, so it surprised all of us when, on the third try to affix the muzzle, he went ballistic.

The vet finally affixed that hated muzzle, and after that it only took a second for the tech to inject him.

We just thought he was mad before; the moment that muzzle came off, Mac twisted out of my grip, leaped off the table, and ran through the open door into the waiting room with the three of us in hot pursuit, that darn mutt screeching and snarling like a rabid timberwolf.

When he raced through the open door, that big Persian was lying on the floor about half asleep at the lady's feet. The moment she saw Mac, the cat headed for Mama and safety; or tried to. She got all tangled up in skirt, stockings, and screaming cat lover. The lady threw herself back in an attempt to escape the melee and toppled her chair over backwards. This gave the cat a chance to run the length of her body and onto the floor and up the curtains, where she perched, screeching insults at Mac, Mama, the receptionist, me, the vet, and the tech, all of whom were tangled in flying feet, skirts, stethoscopes, and Mac's leash.

I grabbed Mac's leash and hustled him out to the car, calling over my shoulder, "Bill me." The last thing I saw was the lady sitting up with her mouth open screaming and her hair down in her face.

Interesting trip, what?


Editor's note:


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