Rambo Kitty

Yesterday I took Gabby to the vet. I was expecting a smooth visit but as soon as I got home I realized the trip was definitely blog-worthy.

I wasn’t stressing about this visit at all. It was just time for her yearly check-up and next round of vaccines. When I got her last March she had already been to the vet, so this was my first time taking her. This was going to be easy breezy because Gabby is my good kitty. Not that Izzy is bad, but Gabby is just more personable, doesn’t hide when people come over, and doesn’t run away from me in general like Izzy does. Anyway, yesterday morning before work I got the cat carrier out of the closet and put it in the living room so they could spend all day getting used to it. When I got home from work I had just enough time to change clothes before it was time to load up and head to the vet. I mentally prepare myself for the possibility of having to grab Gabby and play shove-the-kitty-in-the-crate. I walk down the hall to the living room and who is sitting in the carrier? Izzy. Totally inside, totally chilling. Seriously? Do you think this will happen when it’s her turn to go to the vet? Yeah, I doubt it. In true Izzy fashion when I get about 5 steps away she bolts in the other direction and I get ready to grab Gabby. I pull the towel out that I keep in the crate and as I’m re-folding it Gabby walks right in the crate. I say to myself, Self, this is too easy! Shove the towel inside and close the door. Kitty captured! On to the vet.

Of course I’m thinking this is going to be such a smooth ride because Gabby is just such a good, sweet kitty. And because Rosie was such a terrible car rider this just had to go well. At first she was ok, and by at first I mean for the first 10 seconds. Then she began to grab the bars of the crate with her paws and go all Rambo-kitty on me. She was grabbing the bars and jerking her paws back towards her trying to pull the door open. Then she would head-butt the door or just press her face against it reaaaaally hard. Next she would try both the paw and head tactic at the same time. So here I am driving (and watching out for Christmas trees) while my cat is acting as a feline wrecking ball. It was a long 15-minute ride to say the least. Ok, I thought, so she’s not too happy about being locked in the crate. I can appreciate that, what with my claustrophobic tendencies and all. I was kind of hoping that would be the worst part of this trip, but I was wrong.

Once we arrive and get in a room, I open the door of the crate and assume the position: the get-ready-to-catch-your-cat-as-she-tries-to-escape position. Nothing happens. I peek into the crate, and she’s just lying there. The general vibe coming from the crate was sort of an “I don’t think so” or a “hell no, we won't go”. I try to coax her out but only get more of the you-can’t-make-me stare. So I drag her out, literally, and we wait. A few minutes later two girls come in to do her initial exam. She starts hissing as I move closer to them, and I’m shocked because she hardly ever hisses (except at Abby Grace, who bless her heart just wants to pet the kitties but because she chases them they hide and hiss. Then she’ll say ‘why they spit at me?’) We get her weight (11lbs!) and then its time for the temperature. After three tries to pry her behind off the table and much growling/hissing etc. later, the girls decide it’s not that important to get her temperature. Way to go Gabs. So far my Gabby is NOT getting an A+ at her vet check-up and that is hard for overachiever Type A people like me. Ok maybe just me. Anyway.

So we spend another 10 minutes waiting for the vet to come in. I’m holding her, petting her, trying to calm her down. At one point I start petting her on her back, and either this reminds her of the fact that they were just trying to poke around down there or she thinks they apparated into the room and started petting her. And she starts hissing at me. I try to show her that it is ME that is petting her, and she keeps hissing. At which point I start laughing and can’t stop, and she starts hissing even more. Gotta love my girl with personality! Finally the vet comes in and he needs to examine her and listen to her heart. That lasted about 2 seconds before she started flipping out. Ok, moving on to the shots (ideally I would like to be breezing through the sections because we are completely excelling in every way, not because we are in a pissy mood and not playing nice kitty). The shots, well, they didn’t go so well. Let’s just say she pitched a T total FIT and when it was over the vet held up his hand and there was blood dripping down it. Gabby! I could not believe it. I wonder if anyone has ever been referred to another vet’s office for poor behavior? I quickly become irritated as I imagine her chart is now flagged with some secret vet office code sticker that means she’s a scratcher and a biter. I do NOT like being known for this bad behavior. Her chart totally has ‘hostile’ written on it I just know it! We were supposed to be rockstars at this visit and Gabby did not do her part. Sigh. Then he said the greatest words ever: “Her shots are good for 3 years so she doesn’t need to come back for 3 years”. Really?? Awesome! Wait, are you just saying that because she scratched the @#%^ out of you and now her chart is flagged and you think she’s a troublemaker and we failed our vet check-up??

And of course when we go back out into the waiting room I find out that everyone heard her T total fit. “Was that her making all that noise?” , “Is she the one that was so unhappy?” yes, yes, that’s us, thanks for noticing, we’re available for parties. So I’m waiting at the front desk to check out and this guy is standing there with his little miniature yorkie (or some kind of purse-riding bow-wearing teacup dog) named Daisy (of course). He puts her down in front of Gabby’s crate, saying how much Daisy loves kitty cats. I’m thinking oh good grief, that dog is about to lose an ear. Please Gabby don’t attack this dog, please don’t attack this dog. Luckily she’s still too pissed to care and Daisy survives to wear hairbows another day.

(No offense to those people who have purse-riding bow-wearing teacup dogs. I think they are super cute, just not when my cat might potentially eat one for a snack out of spite)

Finally we make it home and I barely see Gabby the rest of the evening. She didn’t sleep with me last night and this morning I couldn’t find her. Usually she’s in and out and around my room while I’m getting ready. This morning I found her under my bed, and she wouldn’t come out. When I got home from work today she was still under my bed. I’m thinking she’s holding a grudge, but I’m hoping it’s just that her shots are making her feel bad. She finally came out tonight, and is snoozing away as we speak on the couch beside me. She’s totally still glaring at me though.

Silly me for thinking she would be the easy one! That’s what I get for thinking I guess. Izzy is due for a trip next month, and I’m already dreading it. Actually I’m not as worried about the actual trip as I am getting her in the damn crate. I guarantee you she has not forgotten her kung fu karate chops and will no doubt bust them out on me.