11 November, 2007
Simon Sunday: Momma Needs Some Sutures...And A Stiff Drink!
Today was S-H-O-T-S day at the V-E-T for Simon. Actually, he got his postcard from them last month but with my back being out there was no way I was in any shape to schlep him to the vet and back. I had painstakingly completed the pre-flight: Rearranged the closet and "forgot" to put the carrier back in, opened the top door of the carrier while both cats were otherwise occupied and closed the bedroom door before attempting to put Simon in the carrier. However, when I kneeled down in front of the carrier, Simon yelped and clawed his way up my chest and over my shoulder and ran toward the bedroom (which is why the door stays *closed* on V-E-T day). We repeated the procedure two more times before I finally stuffed him into the carrier and closed the top door on him, securely sliding the locks in place. We were now running a little behind, so I decided there wasn't enough time to clean up and hoped that I didn't turn up at the vet's office with too many blood stains peeking through my shirt. As expected, he howled at the top of his lungs all the way to the car, eliciting the stares of all the outdoor kitties. Minon chattered sympathetically to Simon as we left the front porch, but the stray grey and white kitty who has made a home with my neighbor looked at me like I was some kind of monster, while the big black cat glared at both of us for ruining his nap. A couple of neighbors looked out their windows and I imagined what it would be like being the first clinical case of someone dying of embarrassment.
After a looooong eight-minute drive to the V-E-T, the receptionist mentioned that he was due for another test that required a, ummmmmm, sample. I elected to just collect one from his litter box at home rather than put him through a somewhat invasive procedure. The shots are bad enough, after all. We left a few minutes later, with a sample-collecting kit and Simon's rabies certificate in hand.
Once we got home I gave him some treats and praised him for being such a good kitty (the ripping my flesh apart and yowling notwithstanding) but soon it was time to vacuum the apartment. First he hid under the bed, only to fly out from the bottom of the bed like a bat out of hell when I ran the vacuum in the bedroom. Then he very cleverly hid on top of the couch because, you know, the BIG LOUD KITTY-EATING MACHINE almost never eats anything on the couch! Then he decided that the BLK-EM was lingering too long near the couch and it might see him and try to eat him, so he fled to the kitchen, where he took refuge behind my tiny wine rack.
So now Simon thinks that I owe him a steady stream of treats and attention for all of the traumas I've put him through today. My scrambled egg brunch narrowly escaped his groping paw. And I can barely type a paragraph without him jumping up on my desk or up over my chair and sticking his fluffy ass in my face.
I have a feeling it's gonna be a long, sleepless night.
Labels: cats, furkids, Simon, Simon Sunday
~~ victoria on 4:58 PM ~~ 0 comments
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