When loving on Zoloft this weekend I noticed a new and different spot on her belly. There was a place that I didn’t remember having kitty freckles before. Monday I showed the place to The Hater, who also had not noticed it before.
Thus the decision was made to take Zoloft to the vet.
Let the games begin.
For those of you who have not heard our feline antics before, it’s important to understand that our cat is the textbook definition of a scaredy cat. She’s afraid of everything. She doesn’t like change or new things – and hates the outside and anything that is not part of her normal routine. She especially doesn’t like when we walk with purpose, even if we’re not walking towards her.
Her safe places in the house are under one of the beds or behind the toilet in the master bedroom.
So yesterday The Hater and I are home, trying to figure out if we can get the carrier out without spooking her. She was sleeping quietly on the bed, unaware that her day would soon get really gaggy.
In retrospect, maybe waking her up and immediately putting her into the carrier is the best way to go about it. She wasn’t really awake enough to fight us, and we had her zipped into safety before she even knew why she was no longer in her warm spot.
By the time we carried her to the car, our serenade started. Mreroooooorwr. Mrerooooorwr. Mrerooooorwr. Mrerooooorwr. Each cry became both louder and more pitiful than the last. She hates the carrier and the outside, and she was eager to voice her complaints. She didn’t stop until we got back home.
We took advantage of poor Zoloft and called home so that our parents could hear the baby crying. The Dorks felt very sorry for their grand-kitty.
Usually when we get out of the car and inside a building she calms down, but not so yesterday. She cried the entire time. She got the attention of every animal within earshot. I had to juggle the carrier so that the dogs never saw her. We thought that looking at the birds and rodents might interest her, but she was not in the mood to be entertained.
She continued crying when we took her out of the carrier. She jumped around for a little while in the small room, looking for a way out, but ended up curled in a ball in the sink. It was the only place she could hide, and she was pitiful.
It took three of us to hold her down for her exam, but she didn’t protest for her shots. The spots on her tummy are just spots, and everyone was happy, except for Zoloft, who would have rather been hiding behind the toilet.
She cried all the way back home. We expected her to run and hide once we got back home, but instead she followed us around. Somehow her fuzzy logic can’t put together that we were the cause of torment.
We made a conscious effort not to pick on her the rest of the night. We didn’t even play one of our usual ‘tease the kitty’ games. I set out the infant benadryl in case she had a reaction to her shots, but we didn’t need it.
This morning she was as normal as ever, prancing around and following us from room to room. Hopefully yesterday’s events have been deleted from her selective memory—at least long enough us to wrestle her into the carrier the next time we go on another outside adventure.
A Kitty Cat Party: 8 Years Old
1 day ago