Under the Weather
Poor, poor Puss Puss. It was time for Dr. Amy Jones’s annual checkup and shots, so the Snook and I took advantage of our new GoGet membership and borrowed “Enda the Yaris” for a couple hours yesterday morning. So on top of the normal stress of taking the cat to the vet – which she hates – I also had to contend with driving in Sydney – which I’m not used to – and a bucketing rainstorm. I think the cat part was the worst though. She YOWLS like we’re killing her, making unholy noises that no Earth creature should make. She pants and scrabbles to get out of her carrier. It’s not pleasant. I got us to Petersham, though, and the Snook took her in while I spent a harrowing ten minutes trying to find somewhere to turn around and park on Stanmore Road. Eventually I made it in to learn that she’s perfectly fine, other than some tooth buildup from the cheap grocery store food we give her. (Yes, we were suitably chastised by the nice vet.) Then it was another twenty minutes of yowling and scrabbling until we could get her home. The shots kicked in a few hours later… and it was honestly heartbreaking to see. She spent the whole night curled up between my feet on the bed and didn’t even bother to wake us up in the morning. She didn’t feel like eating or playing. And the worst part is, you can’t really communicate to a cat that it’s for her own good, you know? I just tell myself that she lives a spoiled existence for 364 days out of the year; one day of inconvenience is a fair trade.