As told to Lilly Anderson
Today was the worst day of my life.
Well, it was the second-worst. The worst was the day Lilly dropped me and Ted at the vet intact, and we came home without our manhood. They call it neutering, but I call it humiliating.
Anyway, today Lilly tricked me into getting into a box with a zipper she calls a cat carrier. Actually, Peggy was the trickster. The big-eared kitten with the long tail kept jumping in and out of the box, making me think there was something tasty inside. Peggy is always the first to sniff out a stray piece of baloney or a ball of yarn, so it pays to follow her lead – usually.
But this time when I crept into the box after Peggy jumped out, Lilly zipped me in and hauled me to the backseat of Eartha, her beloved hybrid car named after Eartha Kitt, Cat Woman. Lilly thinks “Eartha” is a cute name for a gas-saving, environmentally friendly car, but that silliness just makes me want to puke. Puking, alas, is what got me into this mess in the first place.
As Lilly pulled out of the garage, I let her know I wasn’t happy about this trip by calling my name, “Allllllllll … Allllllllllllllllll …. Alllllllllllllllllll.” Some think it’s a meow, but it’s just me asserting myself.
After six brutal minutes in the car (Eartha has a timer on the dashboard), Lilly stopped and I peeked out of my carrier and saw the sign: Stellhorn Veterinary Hospital. Yikes. I suddenly had a flashback to the day I became a eunuch.
I was being quite brave while Lilly told a lady behind the counter her address, phone number, and other silly facts, but then a big, barking Lab lumbered through the door and literally set my hair on end. Things went downhill from there.
Lilly set me on a metal table (wow, that thing was cold) and a nice lady in a smock put me on the scales. Just below 10 pounds – not bad for a couch potato. Then she stuck a thermometer where the sun don’t shine, and said my temperature was a little high, but whose temperature wouldn’t be high under those conditions?
Then came the man in the white coat. Uh oh. What’s he going to snip off this time?
But all he did was squeeze me a little and say nice things to Lilly that eased her fears that I was one barf away from the Promised Land. I just had a little residual-hairball action that some medicine would flush out and I’d be good as new.
So far this doesn’t seem like a cat’s worst day, but the worst is yet to come. I finally got home and out of the cat carrier and Peggy chased me around the spare bedroom and into the closet where Lilly keeps her craft material. Normally, this would be bliss – alone in a closet full of yarn. But the door was shut tight and I couldn’t reach the yarn. Ted and Peggy started flinging themselves against the closet door, and stupid Lilly thought they were playing a new game. She left me in that blasted closet for an hour, during which time I started to feel the flush-out-the-hairball-medicine urge. I never miss the litter box, and I was getting really antsy in that closet when – hallelujah! – Lilly decided to put away some fabric and found me on the closet floor.
I made it to the litter box just in time.
So you see, if this was my second-worst day, I have a pretty good life.