broke again
So I finally get that fat piece of crap crammed into the little kitty carrier. I somehow manage to get him to the vet on time, and now they've taken him into the back room to clip his nails.
The doctor comes into the exam room, all smiles and curly hair.
"Hi there! How are you this afternoon?"
I grin and start to make a smart ass comment, when the technician bursts into the room. She is holding a huge, writhing red bundle, which explodes into a black and white mushroom cloud, hissing and spitting in a flurry of stress-shed hair. Henry darts behind my legs, and crouches there, growling.
The tech breathlessly gathers her red towel together, shaking her head.
"We got all of his claws clipped, even the extra ones."
Her brow furrows.
"He's a fiesty young man, isn't he?"
I laugh because I know she's cursing him in her head. Damning him straight to Hell the way I do when he attacks my ankles in the hallway. Or when he tries to rip my thumb off my hand with brute force, and those menacingly sharp teeth.
The good doctor cranes her neck to look at my cat, Henry Rollins. Who is now peering out from behind my ankles, green eyes wide as saucers.
"He's a giant!"
I nod, and stoop to haul the tuxedoed tub of lard onto the exam table.
"Yup, 17 pounds. He's lost some weight since his last visit."
He leans his softball-sized head into my stomache, and hisses as the vet rubs his belly. A few times, he tries to spin around and bite her, but I have a good grip on him. I notice long, deep scratch marks are appearing on the technician's arms. Red ruts in her skin, spotted with tiny dots of blood. She is noticeably scared of him.
"It took all three of us just to hold him down. I wrapped him in a towel, but that just made him angrier."
The doctor thanks her, and she leaves the room quickly.
The two of us holding him down, she completes her physical. The tech comes back to hold him for the shots he needs. The needles seem to bother him less than the fact that he's being restrained.
At the conclusion of my half-hour visit, the doctor tells me that Henry Rollins is over weight and at a great risk of diabetes. Also that he has a bad temper, and could I please call ahead of his appointments, so that the on-duty techs can be "better prepared next time"?
$126 dollars to tell me that my cat is a fatass bastard.
I couldn't even afford to get the prescription food they have at the office. It was funny how all the techs told me in the same breath how gorgeous he is, and how mean.
Handsome little son-of-a-bitch.
Time to go to work.
Took me two and a half days to make enough money to send him to the vet.
The doctor comes into the exam room, all smiles and curly hair.
"Hi there! How are you this afternoon?"
I grin and start to make a smart ass comment, when the technician bursts into the room. She is holding a huge, writhing red bundle, which explodes into a black and white mushroom cloud, hissing and spitting in a flurry of stress-shed hair. Henry darts behind my legs, and crouches there, growling.
The tech breathlessly gathers her red towel together, shaking her head.
"We got all of his claws clipped, even the extra ones."
Her brow furrows.
"He's a fiesty young man, isn't he?"
I laugh because I know she's cursing him in her head. Damning him straight to Hell the way I do when he attacks my ankles in the hallway. Or when he tries to rip my thumb off my hand with brute force, and those menacingly sharp teeth.
The good doctor cranes her neck to look at my cat, Henry Rollins. Who is now peering out from behind my ankles, green eyes wide as saucers.
"He's a giant!"
I nod, and stoop to haul the tuxedoed tub of lard onto the exam table.
"Yup, 17 pounds. He's lost some weight since his last visit."
He leans his softball-sized head into my stomache, and hisses as the vet rubs his belly. A few times, he tries to spin around and bite her, but I have a good grip on him. I notice long, deep scratch marks are appearing on the technician's arms. Red ruts in her skin, spotted with tiny dots of blood. She is noticeably scared of him.
"It took all three of us just to hold him down. I wrapped him in a towel, but that just made him angrier."
The doctor thanks her, and she leaves the room quickly.
The two of us holding him down, she completes her physical. The tech comes back to hold him for the shots he needs. The needles seem to bother him less than the fact that he's being restrained.
At the conclusion of my half-hour visit, the doctor tells me that Henry Rollins is over weight and at a great risk of diabetes. Also that he has a bad temper, and could I please call ahead of his appointments, so that the on-duty techs can be "better prepared next time"?
$126 dollars to tell me that my cat is a fatass bastard.
I couldn't even afford to get the prescription food they have at the office. It was funny how all the techs told me in the same breath how gorgeous he is, and how mean.
Handsome little son-of-a-bitch.
Time to go to work.
Took me two and a half days to make enough money to send him to the vet.