Feline Friday: The Bag of Doom

Feline Friday – a weekly peek into the lives of my very spoiled cats. Inkblot has a bit of a reputation at the vet. When I call to make an appointment for her the response is always … “Ohhhh… Inkblot…” There used to be a sticker of a kitten on the exam room wall, level with the exam table. Inkblot hissed and growled at it. The vet’s staff removed it to a different part of the room.

You wouldn't believe the sounds that come from that angelic face at the vet's office.
You wouldn’t believe the sounds that come from that angelic face at the vet’s office. It is much as I imagine an exorcism to be.

There is something in the air any day the female human takes me from my comfortable existence. I should know by now. Even the humans are nervous when the bag appears.

The bag. It is a black pit of despair. Just barely larger than myself, it is a hateful thing.

When the bag appears I am taken from whatever comfortable bed I am perched upon. I am put in the bag against my will. I scream and I claw and I let them know in no uncertain terms that this is unacceptable treatment! And yet, the humans use their superior size and strength to subdue me. Then the bag is put into the big red beast in the one part of my home I am not allowed to go. The Gah-raj.

The human then takes me to a place of pure evil. She says, “The vet’s office.” I say, “Hell.” There are strange noises and strange smells and giant kittens melded with the wall! I demand to know what sorcery this is but the human just peers through the side of the bag mumbling lies. Lies like this, “Inkblot, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t bring you here.”

I growl a reminder that I was once worshipped as a goddess, but the human never responds other than to make more of those aggravating noises that are meant to soothe, but they simply enrage.

The human says the shot will help me feel better. The human says I will feel like a kitten again. The human says it is to treat my “Asssma” and my “Arfritis”. I know these are lies, too. “Arfritis” is most certainly only a problem for moronic yappy canines.

I am ready for battle when they open my bag. One comes at me with a blanket and the other grabs by rear end to jab it with a needle. I scream again. I claw some more. I wail at the top of my feline lungs! I send curses upon their houses! I would make seafaring cats blush with the words coming from my mouth! Finally, I have resorted to relieving myself upon the one with the needle. Somehow I think she must experience this on occasion because she has never told me I am a bad cat for doing it.

I must think up new insults for the next time…


One thought on “Feline Friday: The Bag of Doom”

  1. This is soooo funny! I know it to be true because we had a cat that behaved that way at the Vet’s. Mom

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