"It Was Torture, I Say"

The day didn't start well. Mom said that I could not have breakfast until AFTER the 9 a.m. vet appointment. Well, that certainly put me in a good mood for my visit to the doctor today. Dad got what Mom calls the cat "carrier" out from the shed and it took the two of them to put me in what my friends have more correctly termed the "prison box." I tried very hard to kick and spread out all four legs to keep from getting shoved into it, but they overpowered me.

Once at the doctor's, there were too many DOGS. Ugh! They're so loud and yappy. I just cowered in my prison box; at least it afforded me some protection from those dogs. Finally Mom took me into the examination room and I decided that I like my prison box after all. Mom had to turn it upside down and pry me out. A nice lady took my temperature (oh, the indignity!) and checked me over. She left and I snuggled against Mom for a few minutes. When she returned she had another lady technician with her and a BIG NEEDLE. They held me down and drew blood out of my back leg. She had trouble finding my little vein and had to stick me twice! I was a good boy and very brave, but I must admit that I did cry a little. (I NEVER cry when I get shots.) They told Mom that they had to run a test that would take 10-15 minutes. When they left I started to tremble. I just didn't know what to expect. Mom tried to calm me by telling me that that was all they were going to do, but I wasn't so sure. I trusted Mom, but I wasn't positive that SHE knew what they were up to. Anyway, the dogs were making a ruckus out in the lobby so I snuggled against Mom as she sat in a chair with me cradled in her arms.

After an interminable wait, the doctor came in and talked with Mom. He said that I'm doing better and Mom can cut my pill dosage to 1/2 pill twice a day. The bad news is that he also said that I have to return in 4-6 weeks for another blood test! We'll see about that.


When we got home, Mom decided that she should take a picture of me before letting me out of my prison box. It's a hand-me-down carrier from my late sister Precious. She was a Maine Coon cat who died at the age of 19.


After all I'd been through, Mom knew that she had to get busy and serve my brunch. I was starved!

(Mom has now tried THREE TIMES to post additional pictures, but it's not working, so we will probably give up for the night.)

The rest of the day for me was much better. The weather was great and I hung out on the deck. Also, the store had my canned cat food on sale and Mom bought me about a month's supply. I'm in good shape.

Love,
~Jake