It is with the greatest reluctance that I finally made the
annual doctor's appointment for the feistiest of felines, the incomparable
Princeton P Kitty.
Which if you are new to this blog probably makes me sound like a very
irresponsible pet owner, like someone who begrudges her poor defenseless kitty
his chance at proper medical care.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
The truth is I want Princeton P Kitty to live a long healthy
life. I want him to keep stealing the blankets, harassing the dogs, and
horrifying complete strangers for many years to come.
I just don't want to drive him to the doctor ever again.
See, this is not his regular doctor whose office is
exactly 5 1/2 minutes from our house. This is his
Yes-It's-A-Real-Thing-We're-A-Little-Obsessed-With-Our-Pets-Feline-Cardiologist
whose office is approximately an hour and a half away. Which, if you figure the
round trip, means I have to spend approximately three hours in the car
with the angriest cat in the world. Because, make no mistake about it,
Princeton P kitty is the worst traveler ever.
Ever.
Essentially, he screams for the entire car ride.
Why?
Because he hates being confined to his crate.
Why don’t I let him out of his crate?
Because then he either insists on riding here:
Or he spends the entire journey attempting to balance on my
head like some sort of crazed kitty gymnast.
Which, as I've mentioned before, is a little distracting on the highway.
So, in his crate he goes. And one of the following things always happens:
1. He screams in rage until he makes himself sick.
2. He turns around and faces the back of the crate, there by
riding backwards, until he makes himself sick.
3. He stomps around the crate in angry circles, around and
around until, you guessed it, he makes himself sick.
What I'm saying is that he always makes himself
sick.
And those of you who have never spent an hour and a half confined in a small
space with a howling cat and the lingering scent of cat puke are probably saying things like
"Oh that poor kitty."
And, yes, I do have some sympathy for the cat but the thing is he brings
the situation entirely upon himself. He's not legitimately carsick, he's just
mad that he's not getting his own way. I have explained to him 1,576 times that
if we would face front and lie down, he wouldn’t get sick.
But, honestly, there’s just no reasoning with this cat.
So you know who I really feel sorry for?
Me, that's who.
Nonetheless, I suspect some of you still have your priorities confused and are
now saying, “But he sounds really upset, have you thought about giving him
some tranquilizers?”
In a word, yes. It was a nightmare of such epic proportions
that I can’t even talk about it again. You can
read about it here or you can
trust me that, after that whole experience, I needed xanax more than anyone.
In any case, last year's trip was the worst of the worst.
First of all, Prince puked twice on the way there. Which is
gross but not unprecedented so I pulled over both times, cleaned him and the
crate up as best I could
(I learned my lesson after the unfortunate initial
visit--during which I’m pretty sure he aimed his vomit at my
purse on purpose--and now I always bring a roll of paper towels
with me) and we continued on our not so merry way.
Then he upped the ante with explosive diarrhea.
Which was fabulous because when you're already in a confined space with a howling cat and the
lingering odor of cat puke, nothing adds to the atmosphere like the
eye-watering stench of cat poop.
So, again, I stopped and cleaned but the problem with all this stopping and
cleaning is that A. You can't get everything completely clean. B. The cat,
for safety reasons mentioned above, has to go back in the crate when the
haphazard cleaning is finished.
This means that, by the time we walked in the clinic, he was about three stages
past “insane rage” and was screaming like he'd been set on fire.
Which means that, as soon as we walked in, all the other pet
parents in the waiting room started gaping at me, most likely assuming
that I had let some horrible tragedy befall my cat and now was trying to rush in
and cut the line.
I'm not going to lie, it was a little embarrassing
So, I laughed nervously, kind of half-waving to
all the other horrified pet owners and shouting “He’s really excited to be here!”
But those people didn’t think I was funny AT ALL.
Luckily, the receptionist always remembers us (I imagine a hairless cat
would be somewhat memorable in most situations but when you add in his constant
and impressive vocal range, you have a situation that is irrevocably burned
into people's minds) so I didn’t have to wait around checking in.
“We’re heading to the bathroom so I can clean him up!” I
shouted. “Please tell Brandy we’re here.”
Brandy is the technician who always helps us and who I have a tiny bit of
a girl crush on—which might be because she’s really good with Prince but
is more likely due to the fact that she frequently calms my nerves with
cupcakes.
But I digress...the receptionist gave me a thumbs up so I went
to the bathroom and as soon as I verified the room was empty, I
opened the crate door and Prince ran out like he’d been shot from a gun. He
flew to the other side of the room and then hid behind the toilet, occasionally
sticking his head out to glare at me and meow loudly, like I’m some sicko kitty
sadist who flings cats into crates and drives them around for the sheer
entertainment value of it.
 |
| This is his angry face. |
So, there I was, scrubbing the crate in the sink and explaining
to the cat how ridiculously ungrateful he was, when the door opened
and another woman walked in.
Who immediately thought I was a lunatic because, in her view, I was standing there talking to no one.
A situation not helped by the fact that, when she asked if I
was waiting for a stall, I said “No, but my cat’s in that one.”
 |
| No, this isn't from that day but come on, it's clearly relevant. |
Anyway, the woman fled into the other stall. Unfortunately,
one thing Princeton P Kitty really prides himself on is figuring
out how to make any situation more uncomfortable.
Plus he’s surprisingly fast for a cat with a heart
condition.
Which means that, in the next second, he shot out of his
stall and into hers. And a second after that the woman said “Uhhhh, he’s on my
lap.”
Please pause for a moment and picture yourself in a public
restroom, doing your best to ignore the crazy lady by the sink, when this cat:
flies inside and flings himself on your lap.
I'm probably lucky I don't have a lawsuit for emotional duress on my hands.
Anyway, I was somewhat stymied. Because I assumed she was using
the bathroom as it was intended and this is not, at least not for women, a
group activity.
I very helpfully said “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” About
fifteen times and then said “Tell you what, you probably don’t want me coming
in there to get him but if you put him on the floor and sort of, I don’t know,
shove him, I’ll reach in and grab him.”
“No,” she said weakly. “That’s ok.”
But the thing is, the rotten cat has sneak attacked me in
that exact same fashion at home and it is most definitely NEVER ok.
It’s been almost a year, and I still can’t figure out how
she finished her business.
But she did. And a few minutes later came out with Princeton
P Kitty purring contentedly in her arms.
“He’s got a lot of personality,” she said.
“That’s one way to describe him,” I agreed.
Luckily, it was at this moment that Brandy the Vet Tech
popped into the bathroom and said “I thought you might need some help….how
about a cupcake?”
I love Brandy a little more every time we go.
So, in summary, Prince is the worst traveler in the history
of travelers, you never know what might happen when you sit down in a public
restroom, and cupcakes make everything better.
And you can probably see why I am NOT looking forward to our
next drive to the vet.
If you'd like to read any or all of the other Princeton P Kitty vet adventures, I linked a couple of them below:
