My cats have not been to the vet in, oh, 3 years.
I know. I know! Bad cat mother.
They are indoor cats so their risk of infection is low (so I tell myself) PLUS they don’t have fleas. But Dash is fat. Like obese on the cat charts. Seriously- I had some time to examine the poster while I waited for the doctor and he is definitely in the “can’t feel the ribs and his mid-section protrudes” realm. He must take after me. And Dot is a freak- eating clothing and unable to smell through her nose. I figured it was about time I brought them up to speed on shots and got the bad news out of the way: Your male cat is a fat ass and you female cat has a borderline personality. Oh! And they have tartar build up on their teeth.
But the good news is they are both good looking cats, so they have that to fall back on.
Three years is a long time so you can’t blame me for forgetting that it’s impossible to get both cats in their carrier. Once I get one in and try to put the second one in, the first one escapes. Then the second one wiggles free and I’m running around the house yelling. Yelling at cats is an exercise in futility.
I got Dash in and as I was chasing Dot around the apartment, he managed to get his head half-way out of the crate grate. For a second there I wondered if he was crushing his own brain, it was so smooshed. But he’s not the brightest. And that Dottie- she looks precious but she will claw your eyes out if you wrong her.
Let’s just say, I bled.
Let us out! Or ELSE!
After the appointment, the moment I opened the carrier door when we were back in the apartment, they fled. Dash climbed under the bed covers and Dot went under the bed. A few minutes later, Dot puked. I cleaned it up and THEN about five minutes after that, I heard the familiar sounds of a cat hurling but could not find her. I was looking everywhere all the while hearing those sounds and thinking PLEASE NOT ON THE RUG. Turned out she was behind the TV. I suppose she wanted privacy.
Then I went and had three margaritas. And some chips.