One more thing my tail’s good for, Mom: Hiding from the vet. (Uh, no, son, that won’t work.)
Saturday morning was spent at the vet’s office, as the furry one is again under the weather.
He drew no blood this time, but he’s not exactly endearing himself to the staff (or Gus, the office cat, who was a little freaked out by the sounds coming from the exam room). Yep, he had to have the muzzle again, and be wrapped in a towel so the vet could examine him and take some blood, and he was NOT happy. I think he finally stopped growling by the time we got home (and there were a few snorts too … sounded like a bull). He got some antibiotics after bloodwork showed his white count was high, and he spent the rest of the day resting and getting a little bit of food and a lot of water in him.
You’d better sleep with one eye open, lady. (The glare of death actually got worse after he got the antibiotic shot, but I didn’t get a picture of that because the nurse and I were laughing too much.)
Hopefully he’ll be feeling much better now … and maybe forgive me for taking him to “the bad place.”
But he’s not alone in not being a fan of the vet’s office. He can take solace in that anyway.
I am invisible!!!
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You promised me a big mouse in shorts!
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Ya got nuttin’ on me, copper!
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I’m the first cat to ever think of this! I’m a genius!
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Someone else was already in the sink.
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Nope, no kitty here. Just hand sanitizer!
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Nope, no kitty here either. There’s a snake, though. Hissssssss …
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Serenity is a fuzzy belly 
You never should have let him watch ‘Cool Hand Luke.’
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He does often think we have a failure to communicate. 😉 Mostly when I don’t bow to his every whim …
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This is one advantage of having a dog. My Golden Retriever actually likes going to the vet. Have you ever seen the Garfield cartoon where Jon is preparing to give Garfield a bath? Jon is wearing a full suit of armor such as a medieval knight might have worn.
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The doggos there yesterday were not happy campers for the most part, and the ones that were got plenty of hisses from the boy. If he’s not happy, no one’s supposed to be happy. 😉
The few times I’ve given Luke a bath, I had to cover my arms and legs well … sweatshirt, long pants, no matter how warm it was. Of course I haven’t done that since I broke my arm since I no longer have quite the strength necessary to deal with someone as freakishly strong as he is, especially when he’s ticked off.
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Speaking of dogs and cats, I always remember the Gary Larsen cartoon in which a person is talking to the dog, saying, “Oh, Fido, you are such a good dog, Fido, Good boy, Good boy, Fido.” Then we see what the dog hears: “Yadda Fido yadda yadda Fido yadda yadda yadda Fido.”
Second frame, the person is talking to the cat: “Hi Fluffy. You are such a pretty kitty, Fluffy. Would you like to be petted, Fluffy,” and the cat hears, “Yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda.”
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That’s because so many cats only respond to their tribal names. “Fluffy” is demeaning, while “Arthos the Destroyer” is noble. 😉
Of course, Luke understands his name, many of his nicknames, compliments, and words “doctor,” “vet” and “shots.” He also seems to be catching on to spelling of those words, so if you find my mangled body off the side of the road to Searcy, you’ll know why.
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At the vet’s office, the assistants are women (the vet is a man) and my dog is a typical male because he likes it when females are fussing over him and paying attention to him. Brenda if they find your body along the side of the road, what music would you like for me to play at your funeral? I will be glad to perform for free and I might be able to persuade some of my friends to help me. The Far Side by Gary Larson was one of my favorite cartoons and I do miss it.
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This time I got the backup, who’s a woman, and there was a male tech there I’d never seen before (he clipped the boys nails while they had him hogtied). When he was younger, Luke actually kinda liked our regular vet because he always petted him, told him he was pretty, and apologized for giving him shots. Now the cranky old man doesn’t care who he bleeds. 😉
Although I plan to be cremated, a joke sent to me holds the answer despite being more appropriate for a casket funeral: “Pop goes the weasel.”
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We know “Pop Goes The Weasel” and will be glad to play it for you. Cremated? Are you planning to make an ash of yourself?
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Yesh 😝 😈
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