Pindy being examined - a study in beautiful resignation
It was high time. It was past time. It was two and a half years since we took the three cats to the vet. We kept putting it off and off and off, because they were quite well, and because wrangling the three of them into their three cat carriers is a chore beyond the three of us humans - we are no match for them. Peter recuses himself, because he is so tender-hearted where the cats are concerned, he can't bear hearing even an unhappy squeaklet. And it had to be done, because Paul starts a new librarian job tomorrow and won't be available to help me wrestle moggies for months.
Help me? He did the whole thing. I tried a feeble method, putting treats in the carriers, and when Marshy stuck her head in to get one, I tried shoving her in, but that ended in the cat being twenty feet away and on full alert. We turned a carrier on end, Paul picked up Pindar in his arms, dropped her in and slammed down the door. One down. Somehow he swooped Marshy up in his arms too, and once he had her firmly, he gave her the same treatment. Two down.
Paul and cats in waiting room
They never scratch anybody, but just assume poses of pained but passive resignation. Limply, they were weighed, and to our surprise, the short haired but firmly muscled Alpha, Pindy, out-weighed fat furball Marshy, at 14.9 pounds to Marshy's 13.10. Tully looks nearly as big, but it's all fur - she only weighed 11.12. Their nails were cut, and then one of the vets, a pleasant woman, came in to examine them one at a time. She pronounced them all very healthy, and only carrying a little too much weight! We were pleased that she was so impressed with Pindar, whom she called a very unusual cat, a perfect Torbie, and gorgeous. That's a tortoiseshell tabby, but she has swirls rather than the usual tabby pattern, and lovely streaks of red, as well as that exquisite face. The other two are standard Tortoiseshells, and she complimented them on their gentle good nature, since there's not much that's polite to say for their clownish faces!
A bohemian vet's office with lots of personality!
The drive home was serene, compared; Pindy sat on Paul's lap in her box and enjoyed looking out the window. They couldn't get out of their boxes fast enough, and spent the rest of the day lying around the house in poses of limp, subdued exhaustion. So did we.
Pindy cowering in her box, with that "Et tu, Brute?" look