Meow…not feeling too good
February 14, 2008
note my shaved stomach.
I woke up the other morning feeling more dejected than usual. Of course this led to poking and proding and they found a lump on my stomach. So now all of a sudden they decide to give me some attention and love. I just wish I didn’t have to go to such lengths to garner their sympathy. After panicked emails to Mandy, their veterinarian friend, they decided it was imperative to take me to the vet. THE VET?! Do you know what that entails? Well…first…sailing to another island. Then, being crammed in a canvas bag, then riding in a loud, open-air taxi on a bumpy road, then running into three cats, one of whom I later realized was a cardboard cutout…how embarrassing that I hissed at it. But you can never be too sure with other cats. It only goes downhill from here. The vet, Laura, came in and immediately snatched me out of my dark hiding space behind the trash can and started squeezing and poking and prodding me, including sticking a thermometer where the sun doesn’t shine. How unpleasant. Then they decided to implant a microchip in my back so I can be scanned like a box of crackers at the grocery store. I feel a little bit like Matt Damon in the Bourne Identity, minus the ninja skills. After all the poking and prodding, it was back in a taxi cab and then a dinghy ride to the boat. As you can imagine, I collapsed. I couldn’t even raise my head for food. That should give you an indication of the depths of my despair. Now, they’re threatening to bring me back to the vet on Tuesday to get my teeth cleaned and to check on the results of my antibiotic care. Antibiotics? I thought I was just getting canned fish for sympathy. You mean to tell me my mackerel is laced?!
The only silver lining to this gray cloud is that the fat jokes have to stop. They bet that I weighed at least 16 pounds when in actual fact the scale at the vet office recorded my healthy mass as a mere 11.7. So what if the vet says I should only weigh 8. What does she know? She’s not even a cat.