Everyone entering a foreign country needs a passport. Even
the animals. Rusty had a passport when he went to the Bahamas. Jack needs one
too.
So in early January I set out to find a vet. This is harder
than it sounds. Do you just open the telephone book and pick out a name? Or do
you just go to the vet on the corner? I think not.
I did some research. Finally not knowing who to trust, I
drove down to the local emergency vet and asked their recommendation. They
suggested the vet on the corner. Who knew?
I pulled out the paper work and got an appointment. On the
appointed day I shoved Jack in his box and off we went.
Everything was fine when we arrived. Jack and I were calm.
He looked around. Said hello quietly. We were ushered into the examining room,
no problem. The vet came in and said hello. Jack weighs a little under 10
pounds.
Everything seemed fine. Until, that is, the vet reached in
to touch Jack. At first Jack was uncomfortable. Then he spit a little. Then he
hit. Then he turned into Jack the Hellcat we all know and love!!
At one point the vet caught Jack by the back of his neck and
lifted him off the table. I asked why? He said, “Because I need to look at his
belly and I don’t want to touch him.” Oh Lord!
The bad part came when we all realized that since Jack hasn’t
had shots since he was a puppy (he is 17 now) he needs a full set of shots. Three
shots in all. To a hellcat.
I put him back in his box while they went to get the shots
ready. When I dumped him on the table they (the vet and 2 techs) captured him
with towels and held him down on the table. He was yelling at the top of his
lungs. They were hold on to him for their lives. Three shots seemed to take
forever because Jack was wiggling around so much and screaming like they were
killing him!!
They needed a stool sample. They quickly suggested that
anything from his litter box would be just fine. No one wanted to invade Jack
in that way!!
But Jack survived! He quieted down immediately when I dumped
him in his box!! He is a good kitty.
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