Even the cat’s not talking to me now

I had to take the daft cat to the vet tonight – nothing unusual or drastic, just the slightly-less-than-annual visit for a check-up and injections. It took me and Mouse about half an hour to get him into his basket – normal and allowed for – and then he caterwauled fiercely at me and managed to scratch me through the front of said basket while I was trying to strap the carrier into the front seat of the car. He then continued all the way to the vet – getting louder whenever the car either speeded up or slowed down. The vet isn’t that far away, but it felt like the other side of Scotland.

When we got there, it went into reverse. The cat refused to get out of the basket – he curled up into the smallest ball possible and hunkered down in the back corner. We took the top off the basket and the vet did his jabs and stuff with him in the box, but then he took him out to weigh him… obviously you can’t weigh the cat whilst holding him, because it changes his weight, but the minute both of us had hands off the cat bolted underneath the table!

Thankfully my vet is a man with a sense of humour.

Casper bolted back into his basket when we put it within reach on the floor, and then I had to drive home with him yowling the whole way again. Once home, he pointedly turned his back on me and went looking for Handsome – who isn’t here – to complain to. He settled for Mouse, although Mouse is usually a bit restless for comfortable sleeping-on. Three hours later he is still pointedly sulking in Handsome’s place on the settee.

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One Response to Even the cat’s not talking to me now

  1. Suburban Mum says:

    Haha my old cat used to do that – could never get her in the damn box to begin with (she used to brace her paws on the sides so you couldn’t get her in) and then straight in with no fuss once she was there. And she often used to try and make a run for it if the vet opened the door. I often think if you’d tipped up the cat basket she’d have braced herself inside and you could have shaken it and she wouldn’t come out! And the noises she would make… the waiting room would always be full of dogs that would go nuts when I walked in!

    Now my two stupid felines don’t seem to quite get it. They get in the boxes fine, they look a bit confused but they remain silent, and they are quite willing to get out at the vet. They even purr. Did I mention they are stupid?

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