Picture this: me, face down in my carry case… a fluffy rug on top of me… Ellen holding me down by the shoulders… the vet nurse holding down my hind legs under a second towel… the vet peels back a corner of the rug and jabs not one, but TWO separate needles into my back. No, I was not happy.
Wind the clock back half an hour or so. Ellen comes home, feeds me as usual, but then drags down the carry case. Instantly I’m on alert, even when it’s just sitting there in the middle of the floor and she’s ignoring it, but I must have had a brain fade, because next thing I know she’s shoving me into it and I start mewling pitiously. (Normally I hide under the bed.)
Fortunately, the vet’s really close, so the car journey was a mere blip in the entire ordeal, but then we arrived in the vet waiting room and that’s where the critters were. There were two of them. Not very big, but the moment they saw me they wouldn’t leave me alone. They stared at me. And talked to me. One even attempted to stick a finger inside my carrier case.
Hunched at the back of my carrier I growled and hissed at them, but this seemed only to draw them in closer.
I was relieved to be called in to see the vet. But it turned out to be some man I didn’t know, instead of my usual vets, Dr Caroline or Dr Jenny. I guess my reputation must have preceded me, because he seemed a bit tentative, which made me grrr.
But then he proceeded to clean my ears! I never heard of such a thing… He stuck a swab into my ear and swirled it about and and I heard him ask Ellen if she’d be happy to repeat the process every two weeks. (I don’t think she was too impressed with the prospect.)
Needless to say I wasn’t too impressed either. I hate going to the vet at the best of times, but after being traumatised by midgets and havings things stuck in my ears, I’d had enough. And I let rip. Teeth. Claws. Lots of both. And growling.
And that is how I ended up crammed under two blankets, held down by two bystanders, while the vet gave me my jabs.