A few days ago I got a post card in the mail reminding me that Sam the Cat needed her rabies vaccination updated. Fuck me.

Sam is…tempermental. She’s indoor only, but my county requires all cats and dogs have their rabies updated every three years. I could be fined if I didn’t take her to get the shot, even though she’s never set a paw outside of my front door except in a cat carrier.

I set the appointment and made plans with my mom. I would trap Sam in my living room and mom would stop by on her lunch break to help me catch Sam. It seemed pretty easy. Everything went off without a hitch and it only took us 10 minutes to catch and subdue Sam and stuff her into the cardboard cat box that the shelter gave me when I first brought her home. I’ve always been too cheap to buy her a real carrier.

I do ❤ my pet, just not enough to shell out $50 on a carrier when this one was free!

After mom left I ran downstairs to open the windows of my car – I have a black interior and with the recent heat wave and tiny air holes in the box, it would be cruel to not air out the car before shoving her in it. When I got back into my apartment, I was just in time to see her rip open the side with her teeth and then burst out of the carrier like the Hulk ripping his jeans. She immediately ran under the bed and I knew I was royally fucked.

Do you know how much they charge you for missing an appointment? $40!

I went into emergency mode, calling RockStar and begging him to get over to my house. Then I ran to Pet Co and bought a carrier – just my luck it was on clearance. Before RockStar showed up I was back at my place trying to catch Sam the Cat. I chased her under the bed, through the living room and around the entire apartment. My hair, ever curly, grew into an afro shape from the sweat dripping off of me. Then, just as I’d given up and was crawling out from under the bed again, I saw something so awful, so evil, so cruel I cried. Sam the Cat had climbed onto the bed and was perched over my cell phone. She likes to sleep on it because the battery is warm and I never let her. This time she looked me straight in the eye and shit on my cell phone. EVIL.

Then once she was done as I shimmied out from under the bed, she laid down in it. Maybe it was part revenge, but I think it was also desperation on her part. She was past the point of logic and maybe I was too. Right then Rockstar showed up, dealt with my hysterical crying and went right over to Sam and stuffed her in the carrier.

It was only that easy because I ran her into the ground, like a fox chased by dogs in a hunt.

Then he proved what a compassionate brother he is – cleaning my phone with antibacterial wipes and light soap, then taking my comforter to mom’s house to wash so I wouldn’t have to pay $2.75 in quarters to clean cat poop off of it. Way to be a good brother.

I took Sam into the vet and after cutting her nails, giving her the shot and checking her over they declared that she seems OK but that her right kidney is enlarged. They advised that it could be an infection, cancer, genetic abnormality or nothing at all. They did say she wasn’t in pain. Um OK.

“You can get a blood and urine test to see if we can find out what’s wrong, but it might just be age.”

“Sam the Cat is only 6 years old!” I exclaimed. Isn’t that around 40 in people years? She’s not old – 40 is the new 25. Duh.

“She’s geriatric. She’s my age.” My vet said.

“How old are you?”

“55.”

“Dude, my mom is 54 and she would be pissed to hear you call yourself geriatric. My granny would be even angrier.”

In the end I didn’t get the tests. I’m adopting a ‘wait and see approach’. I hope my beloved hellcat is ok!

Advertisements