...adventures at the vet's

a hilarious blog post [link]sent me by MM...
reminded me of a similar event in my own "hazy" past...
trips to the vet, with cats, being fraught with trauma, as they are...
and the ever present sense of one's life being "on the line...


Scout was one of a litter of 5 all black kittens...
born to 2 strays I fed and cared for several years ago...
she & her 4 brothers grew up in my back yard...
under the watchful eyes of both parents...
[it was like a Disney movie...]

of that family... only MJ & Frick are still with me...
Frack, Rex, Momcat & daddy Midnight have all joined Scout...
in "Kitty Heaven"...
but before she "left"... she "made her mark"...

Scout NEVER forgave me for "catching" her...
and "bringing her in" to be a house cat...
her brothers liked living in the house...
but she, like her mom, wanted to be "wild & free"...

her dad, Midnight, was an amiable wanderer...
who I first discovered sleeping on my bed late one night...
completely at home...
totally cool and non-aggressive towards my cats...
very unusual for an "intact" male...

I had had him neutered months before...
but, as I learned, NOT soon enough...

I watched Roxie [Momcat-to be] get plumper...
as she came daily from across the street to be fed...

after the kittens were weaned...
she was spayed... and continued to come for food...
for years after having the kittens...

taking the kittens from their mom was not pleasant...
but it had to be done...
and done at least 2 weeks before they could get their first shots...
weaning... and all that...

the 5 kitten's first trip to the vet for shots...
at the age of about 8 weeks...
was memorable ... to say the least...

one of the boys [Frick, I think...] got away from the vet...
and had to be retrieved from the top of a cabinet...
where he took refuge...
we finally got him down and treated...
to this day... he hates going to the vet...
and if he has to "stay" there overnight...
he turns over the litter pan in his cage...
and hides under it... refusing to eat...

since Scout was the nervous type...
I got a firm grip on her scruff with my left hand...
and restrained her front paws with my right...

the vet started to give her the shot...
and she "freaked"...
as I was holding her...
biting me... HARD...
clawing and kicking...

loath to let go of her...
as she might escape the room and get hurt...
I gritted my teeth & held on...
[as did she...]
urging the vet, through clenched teeth...
to finish... QUICKLY...



he did the deed... and I put her back into the carrier...
only then did I really look at my hand...
blood gushing from several deep bites...
and assorted gashes...

the vet, then noticed the extent of my injuries...
and after giving me a handful of towels to staunch the blood...
produced a copious amount of gauze pads, tape and other bandages...
apologizing profusely that it had been me and not him...

I left with my hand swathed in the pink adhesive they use for casts...
[a harbinger of the bandage I would have several years later...
on the same hand...after having the top joint of my thumb amputated
due to cancer under the nail ...]



my hand looked a lot like this...
and involved twice daily soaking in hot, epson salt water baths...
opening and draining...[ie squeezing out... well, you know...]
and keeping it elevated...

as I look at the scars on my hand...
I remember Scout...
and how her untimely passing, a few years later...
left scars on my heart...

she NEVER got over her "vetaphobia"....
[or "anybodymessingwithmeaphobia" either...]
and would succumb to an infection ...
she wouldn't let me treat...

she had been such a happy, trusting kitten at first...
until that day I tricked her and took her inside...
she never forgave me... and never forgot...
never trusting me... or anyone else again...

this memoir is not funny...
like the one in the link...
but then, Scout's story isn't really funny...

I look back on it as a cautionary tale...
of mistrust... misunderstanding...
and irony...