Today we're going to talk about the right way, and the wrong way, to take your cat to see the vet for the first time.
The right way is to pick them up in your arms, in a nice quiet room, soothe them with your voice and place them gently inside the pet carrier. Carefully close the pet carrier door, all the while talking in dulcet tones to keep your beloved animal peaceful and feeling loved.
The wrong way is how my husband attempted to do it today, which resulted in bloodshed, excrement and a chipped tooth. His, not the cat's. The chipped tooth, I mean. Also, for clarification purposes, it was the cat who had the crap literally scared out of him and not (as was the rumor) my husband.
We have two cats that have not seen a vet before. One is the mother of the boy, who is the result of an unfortunate act of incest by our third cat, who is now in his fourth month of a serious time- out for breeding with his sister.
Twitchy and Smokey
Happily, all four kittens were born with the proper number of limbs and no extra eyes. We gave three away and kept one. The children have named this cat Twitchy. As you may have guessed, this particular feline's genetic makeup may have taken more than a little detour by virtue of having an Uncle Daddy and an Auntie Momma.
Despite his propensity for suddenly twitching a paw for no apparent reason, we love him. And when you love an animal, you take care of it as best you can by making sure it's healthy enough to have its bits and pieces whacked off before it commits yet another assault on all that is decent by engaging in sexual relations with its mother.
There are just some things I'd rather not have to explain to the children.
Today we had an appointment for Twitchy and his mother Smokey. We have one pet carrier. We didn't think it was a problem for both cats to ride together, as they are a very close mother and son. So close, in fact, that I still find the nearly-five-month-old nursing on his poor mother. In cat years, this is akin to a 5-year-old unbuttoning his mother's blouse for an afternoon snack. Wrong, oh so very wrong.
Sharing a pet carrier shouldn't have caused a problem. It was the getting them into the pet carrier that caused the problem. First, hubby picked up the mother, as skittish as she is, in a room that contained four girls, ages 7 to 9. As anyone can tell you, girls of this age are not known for being quiet when an impending sleepover is in the offering. They were screeching.
As one child held Twitchy and hubby held Momma, the decibel level suddenly jumped, and it seemed both cats were suspended in mid-air above the pet carrier for a few breathtaking seconds before hissing balls of fangs and fur flew in two different directions.
That's gotta hurt
Hubby was holding up his arms and looking at them. Long, red scratch marks were emblazoned on both arms, and as I went near to inspect the damage, I realized that someone, I could only hope not human, had released his or her bowels in the vicinity. I carefully avoided breathing through my nose and peered into the pet carrier. Yep. Poop. Lovely.
I looked back at hubby, who had an odd look on his face and was running his tongue back and forth over his front teeth.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I chipped a tooth," he said.
"You ... what? How?"
"Trying to put the cat into the carrier. I chippeda tooth."
"The cat hit you in the face?"
"No, I did it."
"With what?"
"My other tooth."
In closing, please remember: If your husband is planning on "helping" you get your pets to a vet, it's a good idea to have him wear a mouth guard and protective clothing, perhaps a Kevlar vest or a biohazard suit if there are young children present.
Better yet, don't let your husband help, especially if you don't have dental insurance.
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