A minor indignity

It was time for a check-up on Friday, so Annie took us to the veterinary surgery. This is a regular occurrence these days and we ought to be more relaxed about it, but it always makes us unhappy. I’m never quite sure if I’m about to spend a couple of minutes with a thermometer up my bottom or a fortnight in the cattery, as in my experience these are the only two possible outcomes of a car journey. So I cry in the car, especially when it’s sitting at traffic lights. (I know I can’t be heard very well over the sound of the moving vehicle, so I save my breath and start screaming when the hand-brake goes on.) Chutney is even worse than me, resisting arrest at home, and growling throughout the journey, with her ears flattened and her tail bushed out. Whichever of our human companions is driving us will usually say reassuring things like “don’t cry, babies, nearly there, poor babies” in a drippy voice, but that makes it worse. When they come out with that patronising crap, I suspect they’re going to have me put down.

Anyway, this particular visit wasn’t without its highlights, despite my anxiety. When we’d parked the car and entered the surgery, a number of people in the waiting room – ladies, naturally – admired me enthusiastically. One discerning woman said “what a beautiful ginger cat!” Another had a dog which showed a lot of interest in me, so she warned him off, telling the silly animal that “the kitten didn’t want to play”. The kitten! I’m nearly eighteen, and she wasn’t being sarcastic. Perhaps “kitten” is taking it a bit far - she was no spring chicken herself, and her eyesight may not have been 20/20. However, when it was my turn to see the vet (thermometer up the arse as usual, plus a good general manhandling), I was told that I was in “amazing condition” for such a mature gentleman. I do hope that was “amazing” as in “amazingly good”. I’m pretty sure it was, because there were smiles all round. Chutney didn’t get quite such a clean bill of health, though she’s “stable”, so she’s with us for a while yet.

So despite the indignity of the thermometer (haven’t they heard of lube?) it wasn’t such a bad morning. I almost forgot to cry in the car on the way home, and when I climbed out of my basket in the hallway, I celebrated with a quick run around the house and a long sleep. Chutney just went straight to bed, growling.