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Kilroy’s visit to the Vet

You see,  we can’t cut Kilroy’s nails.  He won’t let us.  So when we discovered that he needed an injection for worms (You don’t want to know), I requested the vet handle it.

Appointment set, I took down the cat carrier from the closet and onto the desk, rested up, placed one of Melissa’s gloves in the carrier (one of Kilroy’s favorites), then picked up our sweet, sleepy cat.

He remained so until I got him half way into the carrier.
Then the memory of his last outing, and coming back fixed, flashed, transforming him into a bracing, hissing urinating prize-fighter.  I blotted the desk, Melissa turned the carrier opening toward the ceiling, and dropped him in.

He growled a bit along the way, and I examined my bloody scratches.  After I paid one injection and one nail job, the assistant picked up the carrier to escort him to the back room.  “Oh, He must be chubby.”

“Oh no, that’s muscle,” I said, “We can’t cut his nails at home.”

Kilroy disappeared into the back room.

Twenty minutes passed.  Then a gal came out, knelt by my chair:

“Kilroy’s a bit… tense.  We can’t get him on his side to do his nails.  We can give him the injection no problem but… Would it be alright if I asked the doctor to sedate him?”

“Sure, whatever it takes,” I said.

“Well, it’d be an extra charge.”


“It’s just that, if he’s sedated, he’ll be here until 5:30.  We can’t let him leave until he can sit up on his own.”

I told her that since the injection was the primary target, I’ll let the nail job go.  She apologized, I understood, and she disappeared in back.

Another minute passed, and she waved me into the back.

As a stepped in, I noticed Kilroy on the counter, half wrapped in a towel.  They tried swaddling him as Melissa and I tried in the past, failing miserably.  Kilroy’s too strong for that, and now they knew it too.  One assistant was across the table, staying out of reach.  A male vet wielded a hoop net on a pole, in case Kilroy made a break for it.  The other vet wore large mitts as if she was taking a tiger from the oven.  They all looked at me to bail them out.

“Well, my wife just tipped the carrier on end and dropped him in.”

“We tried that.”

I showed my cut thumb, “He got me on the way in.  Do the best you can.” I then reached over and brushed Kilroy between the ears.  He growled.  “Get in the carrier,” I said, and went in the other room to remove the charge.

Seconds later the assistant reemerged with the carrier, “He must have sensed he was going home so he went right in.  Next time, can we recommend a prescription for a sedative that you could administer before he comes?”

Kilroy hasn’t quite forgiven me yet, but he’s stopped grumbling.  If only he could have gotten mad at the worms.

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