Monday, August 15, 2011

Dr. Bentley, We'll See You Next Week

When poor darling Fatty has to go to the vet, she gets very very very upset. 

Fatty is (thankfully) afraid and respectful of me as her most present, large, and loud authority figure, so she'll comply with me when I have to shove her into her Fatty carrier and put her in the car for her appointment.  However, from a specific incident involving 2 parents, a Desperate Housedaughter on vacation in California, and a non-compliant feline who ran and hid under the bed at the sight of her carrier being pulled out mere minutes before the vet appointment, I have learned that I must take out Fatty's carrier ahead of time.  Specifically, at least one week in advance for her to see it, acclimate, and then be shoved into it at an unknown and random time.  I just took it out today for her appointment next week, in fact!

Lest you find this method cruel, please try it yourself.  It works amazingly.  The element of surprise is critical.  Poor Fatty doesn't see it coming, and it's hilarious!!!!  Getting her in requires one firm shove, and then it's over.  Truly miraculous!

En route to the vet is when Fatty is the worst.  She meows the entire way there, and by meows I mean great big loud moans of disgust and horror like a baby whale dying.  The production only gets more intense as we stop the car, head into the waiting room, and then inevitably hang out for a bit until they're ready for her.  She wails so loudly that the people behind the desk look at me the way I look at moms of 4 year olds in the grocery store checkout line.  Sorry ladies, I get it now and will stop judging.

After we're escorted to the exam room, the vet tech attempts to lure Fatty out of her carrier, with no success as Fatty has now smushed herself to the furthest back point in the container and cannot be reached.  Super!  So then we just go with the flip the carrier on its side "dump-and-let-gravity-do-the-work" method, and the cat has no choice but to slowly slide down and plop onto the stainless steel exam table.  She shoots me an angry stare but then focuses her attention on the vet tech and hypervigilance.  I've watched enough Cesar Milan to know that I shouldn't coddle Fatty while she's at the vet, so I just ignore her and discuss the appropriate percentage of protein that should be in her diet.

When the vet tech leaves to get the doctor, Fatty makes sure she sits with her back fully turned to me.  I attempt to console her with the result that she turns her fluffy face toward me, unleashes a string of meowing profanity, and clearly wills me dead with what she wishes were her eye guns.  I never get a look so injurious from this animal except in this exact scenario, and she wants to make sure I know that what is going on here is UN. AC. CEPTABLE.  The look she's giving me implies the feeling I have anytime Fatty wakes me up at 5 AM (when I'll often mentally picture her bursting into a furry ball of flame).  She'd like me to go up in smoke and go to hell, in whatever order.

Then the doctor comes in, and BAM!  Fatty turns the tables big time!!  The loathing-filled creature of 15 seconds ago has been replaced by a sweet Southern belle greeting Dr. Bentley like she's a long lost relative.  Maybe it's her defense mechanism, but Fatty is so freaking nice to the vet that I have to stop and thank Jeebus for sending me a lovely fluffpuff like her.  I used to have one of those cats that unleashed fury and madness on the vet, clawing and attacking and injuring before escaping onto the highest shelf in the room, out of reach for at least 30 minutes.  Once a vet had to get stitches because of him.  Trust me, vets hate you after that. 

Not Fatty, though!  She's a sweetheart.  She gets felt up, told she's fat (not unlike my own doc appointments), and then is allowed to leave.  My fluffy baby jumps back in her carrier as soon as its made available, and she's generally quieter on the way home.  As soon as we get home, she runs and hides for hours, giving me the cold shoulder until her next meal or she reaches forgiveness, whichever comes first.

Tell me about your pets, readers!  I love a good going to the vet story. 

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