Today, I had to take the cats to the vets with my mum. I remember this being a really fun and exciting experience when I was younger. Now, not so much. They do everything, EVERYTHING in their power to avoid being put into their little carry cages, this includes scratching, BITING and shoving tails and ***holes in your face. So there I am, my mum’s given me the task of getting Sam, the boy and significantly larger cat, into the carry cage and so I’m stood, pretty much doing the splits, trying to force this black mass of cat into this blue cage, (Poppy has a pink one, my mum adhering to gender stereotypes) and my mum just picks up Poppy, who weighs, oh I don’t know, about a pound, and carefully places her in the pink carry cage. We figure out the only way to get Sam in this cage is to trick him. So, together, we devise a plan to throw some dreamies in the cage (dreamies are the equivalent of crack cocaine to cats) (if you’re addicted to crack that is, otherwise it’s like an Oreo) and it works a treat (scuse the pun) and he rushes in the cage and we crank the door shut so all we can hear now is MEEEEOW MEEEOW MEEEOW
ALL THE WAY TO THE VETS
MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW
It doesn’t stop, even when we get to the vets and we sit in the waiting room and we’ve faced the little cages toward each other so Sam and Poppy can comfort each other over how unfair their lives are, how these dirty horrible humans woke them from their slumber this morning only to TRICK THEM INTO THE CAGE OF DOOM and bring them to this smelly building which was far away because they came here in the metal box they get in to go places. Why are they here? The humans plan to kill them, it happened last year. But they managed to escape the penalty last year. Fur (sorry) some reason, the humans spared their lives last time and perhaps, perhaps this year, they’ll be spared again.
Regardless of the cat plotting going on behind our backs, when we took the cats into the vet’s room, we made that awful awkward small talk about how our pet’s a pain in the bum and “Oh no, stop being such a little bugger and sit on the scales” jokes. When secretly, EVERYONE at the vet’s knows that their pet is the best. And every pet knows that yes their owner might be calling them “a nifty bugger” right now and saying they’ve gained weight but all the pets know as soon as they get home, their human will shower them with dreamies and choruses of “awh and who’s a pretty [insert type of pet] then, who’s my liccle shuggy wuggy wuggums?” “You are, yes [insert pet’s name] is.”
Anyway, turns out our cats aren’t bothered anymore, Sam slides out of the carry cage straight onto the scales like the big lump he is, (sorry schnuckums) and then takes his thermometer like a trouper, and his injection like a man. Poppy is so bewildered by the fact that she’s still alive that she does everything the same and it’s done. All over and done with for another year.
A friend sent me this video and it literally, couldn’t be more true that these thoughts have crossed the minds of anyone who has a cat. Enjoy.