Zoe Visits the Vet
Good evening, my friends. I hope you had a wonderful day. Mine wasn’t that great. Before I tell you why, let me–for the sake of any new readers out there–introduce myself. I am Zoe the Fabulous Feline. And to all fans, I will let you in on a little secret: My nickname is “Fast Cat” because I can turn from calm to stormy faster than a New York minute. Anyway, back to my point. Which is that I had a bad day and I’ll tell you why.
Emily (my human) got out the cat carrier last night. There’s only one place I get driven to in that thing, so I knew what bringing it out meant: I was going to the vet’s the next day, probably for a nail clipping. Why did I think it was for a clipping? Easy. I reached out my paw to pat Emily’s thigh yesterday morning, like I always do when I just want a little attention, and she yelped like a puppy whose tail had been stepped on.
Now, my human loves to get her nails manicured. The reason I tell you this is that it’s important to know that I have nothing against nails getting “done.” As long as they are her nails. She can get them clipped, cut, filed, painted—whatever she wants—but, please—can anyone explain to me why I must be subjected to such barbarism?
I really abhor being clipped. I mean, it feels sooooo good to dig my long claws into someone . . . ah, I mean . . . something . . . like my scratch posts—and sometimes the sofa (but please don’t tell Emily). Of course, there comes a time when my claws do get a bit too long and start to curl into my little foot pads. And that hurts like heck! So, occasionally I will put up with the torture of being clipped. But I don’t like it and I have to make sure I let everyone know, and that includes the staff at the vet’s office. I mean, it’s all about dominance, right? Maintaining control and the upper paw.
Emily thought she could fool me by throwing a cover over the carrier. Foolish human. I saw, I knew, I hid. But, OK, I admit that the next morning, that is, earlier today, I allowed her to find me and place me in the carrier. I do enjoy getting out of the house once in a while, even though the only time I get out is to visit the vet.
The vet does manage to trim my nails, but I don’t make it easy for him. Nope, I sure don’t! Here’s how my nail appointments go and today was no different: An assistant holds me down while the vet works on my nails. But not until they don those long gloves; in fact, they don’t even approach the carrier until they have those on. Smart move.
You see, the first time they met me, I was sweet and calm as could be. Until they got out their torture tools and reached for my paw. I was not happy about that and let them know in no uncertain terms. They don’t call me “Fast Cat” for nothing.
I complained loudly all the way home. Emily tried to make up with me but I wasn’t having it. I know it pains her to hear me cry and vocalize my anger, and so she tries to calm me down with baby talk. But I was holding out, figuring I could get some treats out of this, and she didn’t let me down. I gave her hand a little lick to show that I forgave her.