Kitty Chronicles Volume One

     Science assures us that no two snowflakes are alike.  Owning cats has taught us that no two cats are alike.  Cats are as different as people.  One wakes up cranky, mettlesome and combative and the other joyful, enthusiastic and ready to eat.  I will let you guess who rolls who as we fill the cat food dish first thing in the morning.

     A trip to the vet also embraces three different approaches for three different personalities.  Our little Princess, "Miss Prefect", steps willingly into her kitty carrier without a fuss.  Bootsie cat, our outdoor kitty, doesn't fight, but makes his opinion obvious as soon as the cage door clicks shut.  However, caging Spiffy, the fat boy, requires stealth and cunning.  I hide the cat carrier in the laundry room, door open and carry him walking backwards into the room so he can't see it.  I turn and quickly shove him through the carrier door.  He is clever enough to hook his hind feet over the edge of the door, dragging the entire cage across the top of the washing machine as I attempt to shove him inside.  Only when the cage hits the far wall of the laundry room and cannot slide any further can I get the leverage to plunge his entire mass into the carrier.  Then it is a race to extract my arm before he can thrust a body part back through the crack.
      Once at the vet, the process unfolds in reverse order.  Princess steps willingly from the carrier and purrs through her exam.  She accepts her vaccinations sweetly and sits quietly on the scale when weighed.  She is the prefect weight for her size and age.  Our vet always comments on what a sweet little cat she is.  She seems to delight in hearing the compliment.  She goes back into the carrier as kindly as she came out.
      Bootsie is a little reluctant.  In fact, he poops in the carrier as soon as he hears the vet.  He allows the vet to exam him, vaccinate him and weigh him with some hesitance, but still cooperates.  Our vet always finds organic matter on Bootsie's backside (he's a highly motivated mouser), and always yells to his assistant:  "Medicine for tapeworms, please."  Then he cleans Bootsie's carrier so it won't stink up the veterinary office.  And Bootsie is done.
      Spiffy always goes last.  I have to drag him from the carrier with as much struggle as I shove him in.  Again, he hooks his hind feet on the cage door and scoots the carrier along until the vet grabs it with a free hand.  I pin him to the exam table with both hands while the vet also pins his other end down and administers a flurry of shots,  exam, and finally weighing.  Spiffy clocked in at 17 pounds this visit.  And again, my vet encourages me to put him on a diet.  As we make preparations to leave, Spiffy is quite willing to scramble back into the carrier.
      We travel back home in a cacophony of purring, muttering and complaining.  And, yes, one last "contribution" to the vet in Bootsie's cage.  We are done for one more year.