Proud mother

We haven't taken our Izzie to the vet in years. It's partly due to the fact that we're scaredy cats ourselves. The last time we took her (as I was certain she had a growth on her belly, which turned out to be present on all of our cats . . . so apparently I was feeling some sort of cat anatomy that was meant to be there. . . . Um, I over-reacted) she hissed and snapped and threatened the vet under her breath. And the vet refused to examine her.

That ended that. No more vet trips for Izzie; she got her wish; mission accomplished.

But with the advent of 2008, we decided we all needed regular medical care, the whole brood of us. Cooper went first as his skin allergies moved him to the front of the line. Ike's fever put him next on the list. Izzie was always third. . . we knew we'd have to work up to her and buy some welder's gloves before we could even consider it.

Last week, after Cooper went to the vet yet again; I made an appointment for Izzie. In talking to the veterinarian, I explained that our little gray cat was, well, violent to say the least. She offered up a sedative and assured me this was not unusual and they would examine her; they just wanted her "experience" to be less traumatic.

Like a good pet owner, I cut the pill in half and proceeded to drug our little kitty last night. I felt horribly guilty. The odd thing was that the pill administering was non-eventful, smooth as silk.

We waited a bit and I finally loaded her in the car. She cried on the way there and hissed in the waiting room, but it seemed ok.

When I put her carrier on the examining table and unzipped the top and front, all hell broke loose. She hissed, snapped and threatened. The response of the vet tech, "Do you want a fecal sample?" To which I replied, "I think we can definitely do without that." She asked the vets what to do, they suggested we wait a bit to let the sedative fully take effect. And there I sat on the little uncomfortable bench, e-mailing our realtor while Izzie alternated between hissing and dozing.

The vet returned, Izzie threatened and she offered to come back with another vet in tow. Upon their arrival, the dynamic duo suggested I leave the room. And I did. I'm awful, I know. I know they had to man-handle our little cat, but darnit, she had to get her shots and she needed to be examined.

When I sat in the waiting room; I could hear her hissing and screeching. I looked at my fellow waiting room person and said, "I guess I should be embarrassed." She grinned nervously.

Eventually they opened the door, both vets looked a little worse for wear and they had me retrieve my carrier. Izzie was snuggled inside, sleeping.

I took my girl and went to pay the bill. The vet came out and said, "We charged you for an examination fee, but we really didn't get to examine her much. . . I think it was mainly for the 'trouble'." To which I agreed completely. She added, as if to console me, "We have three or four cats in our practice that we have these issues with. We'll mark on her chart that she might need a whole pill next time."

My response, "Great, she's one of three or four cats, out of thousands you see each year that gives you problems; and this goes on her permanent record. I swear she was raised better than that."

I paid my bill, took my kitty home and she slept with me all night, apparently forgiving me at some point. I think we'll skip next year's visit. I think the vet will thank me too.