Cute but Pointless Non-Horse Anecdote
I don't really have any horse-related or magazine-related news today, so for those of you who come here for that, check back later in the week. For anyone who just wants semi-amusing animal anecdotes, keep reading.
Meet Cinder (I don't have a photo on this computer, but I'll try to upload one later). Cinder is my 11-year-old half-Siamese cat who truly believes that the world revolves around her, and most of the time it does. This Saturday I had to take her to the vet for her annual check-up.
Cinder likes sleeping. She likes sunshine. She likes escaping if I leave the door open. She likes to watch birds, eat salmon, and trick visitors into giving her extra food.
Cinder does NOT like the vet. Or the drive to the vet. Or anything else about this whole vet business.
So we get to the vet first thing Saturday morning. I'm barely caffeinated (not a good start). Cinder has howled up a storm (remember: part Siamese) on the way in, but is unusually quiet once we get to the vet, mostly because there are no other cats for her to spit at that early in the day.
My wonderful vet knows that Cinder is generally all talk (don't ask me where she learned all those swear words, but at least she doesn't bite). But Cinder also does not like having her belly touched, and squeezing the belly of a 12-pound cat in order to find little kitty-sized internal organs is not an easy process--for the vet or the cat. We had to transfer Cinder to the low bench to do the exam, which meant Cinder ended up with her face in the corner, snarling up a storm until she finally gave up, whirled around and took a swipe at both of us. She continued to snarl, her eyes dilated out to the rims, until the vet decided that perhaps a time out was best at that point--Cinder was certainly healthy enough to let us all know exactly what was what, no problem with her lungs or heart!
We were sent home with a sedative so Cinder could come back for a full exam in a somewhat more docile state at a later date. A few more feline swear words were uttered, we trundled home, and Cinder was allowed to escape from the Evil Carrier of Doom.
Five minutes later, she crawled up into my lap and purred like nothing had happened. She even let me touch her belly.
So much for the humans being in charge.
Meet Cinder (I don't have a photo on this computer, but I'll try to upload one later). Cinder is my 11-year-old half-Siamese cat who truly believes that the world revolves around her, and most of the time it does. This Saturday I had to take her to the vet for her annual check-up.
Cinder likes sleeping. She likes sunshine. She likes escaping if I leave the door open. She likes to watch birds, eat salmon, and trick visitors into giving her extra food.
Cinder does NOT like the vet. Or the drive to the vet. Or anything else about this whole vet business.
So we get to the vet first thing Saturday morning. I'm barely caffeinated (not a good start). Cinder has howled up a storm (remember: part Siamese) on the way in, but is unusually quiet once we get to the vet, mostly because there are no other cats for her to spit at that early in the day.
My wonderful vet knows that Cinder is generally all talk (don't ask me where she learned all those swear words, but at least she doesn't bite). But Cinder also does not like having her belly touched, and squeezing the belly of a 12-pound cat in order to find little kitty-sized internal organs is not an easy process--for the vet or the cat. We had to transfer Cinder to the low bench to do the exam, which meant Cinder ended up with her face in the corner, snarling up a storm until she finally gave up, whirled around and took a swipe at both of us. She continued to snarl, her eyes dilated out to the rims, until the vet decided that perhaps a time out was best at that point--Cinder was certainly healthy enough to let us all know exactly what was what, no problem with her lungs or heart!
We were sent home with a sedative so Cinder could come back for a full exam in a somewhat more docile state at a later date. A few more feline swear words were uttered, we trundled home, and Cinder was allowed to escape from the Evil Carrier of Doom.
Five minutes later, she crawled up into my lap and purred like nothing had happened. She even let me touch her belly.
So much for the humans being in charge.
posted by NWHS at
1:33 PM
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