I had to take Merlin to the vet yesterday. This is an almost monthly occurrence. He has a chronic mouth infection so he has to go in every 4-6 weeks for a shot to keep the infection at bay. Because of this infection, he has no teeth left.
You would think by this point, he would be used to the drill – Mommy comes home from work, changes her clothes, pulls out the carry case, covers it with wee-wee pads, grabs Merlin, snuggles with him a moment and then shoves his ass into the carry case where he promptly pisses and poops.
Yesterday, Merlin decided to change the rules. He started to piss BEFORE I shoved his ass into the carry case.
Yep, Merlin-piss all down my leg. And all over the carpet. And all over the carry case.
Grrr.
So I shove his ass into the carry case, rush around stripping off clothing while crying “Ew! Ew! Ew!” and “Stop laughing!” (This one directed to the BF who is crying and spitting up his dinner). I change clothes, grab my purse and keys and run over to the carry case only to discover that Merlin has escaped.
My “Shit! He escaped!” caused the BF to further collapse in peals of laughter while I stomped off to find more wee-wee pads to line the sodden carry case.
Once done I start looking around for Merlin, who pokes his head out of the computer room and then tries to run away. Yeah, my 17 lb, 13-year-old cat with joint problems tries to run away. Lumber is more like it. He doesn’t get very far until I grab him, rush him to the carry case and (all together now) shove his ass into the carry case.
I figure once I get him in the car, he’ll be all right, like he usually is. WRONG! I get Merlin into the car and while I’m walking around to the driver’s side I see that he is struggling mightily to get out of the carry case. Think of the alien pushing it’s way out of John Heard’s chest and you’ll get the idea of what this looks like.
I finally relent and unzip the top a little so he can stick his head out. And he rides like that for the entire trip.
Merlin does follow the rules once we get to the vet – hiding his head in the corner of the carry case while waiting, hissing and growling at the vet once we get in to the exam room, hissing and growling at the vet when he goes back into the carry case (must have the last word, you know), hissing and growling on the way back to the car. He is then supposed to sit quietly in the carry case, reflect on his bad behavior and then utter a pitiful meow or two once we are in the elevator back at home.
He manages to sit quietly on the ride home, except he’s sitting up with his head stuck out of the top of the carry case. And when I get home, I get out of the car, walk around the passenger side to get the carry case and I see that he’s gotten out of the case and made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat. He stares at me and his tail goes flick, flick, flick.
Yeah, he’s angry.
I tap the top of the car impatiently.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
I cajole, I plead, I order.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
I remember that he’s deaf.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
I remember that he’s deaf, shut the passenger side door, run around to the driver’s side and open it.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
He’s deaf and doesn’t hear me open the door. Doesn’t even bother to watch me walk around the car.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
I grab him from behind, scare a hiss out of him and run back around the car holding him out so he doesn’t pee on me again.
Yeah. He’s really angry. He’s still not speaking to me. And boy will he be pissed when I go on vacation in two days and leave him here alone with Isabella for five days.
I better get more wee-wee pads.
