The Ballad of Transporting The Angry Cat
The rough timeline of my Friday morning:
Set up cat carrier vertically, the better to drop large, anxiety-ridden, 13 year old cat who does not speak English and thus cannot be told to calm down because it's just a routine trip to get her nails trimmed and whatnot into it at the appropriate moment. Discover said cat is outside. Realize that said cat has roughly four thousand escape routes, and moves much faster than I do. Realize that said cat also has a brain the size of a walnut, and is likely to use precisely one (1) of those routes. Get between cat and escape route. Attempt to pick cat up. Attempt to pick cat up again. Attempt to pick cat up a third time. Actually pick cat up. Nearly drop cat. Adjust grip on cat, who is clearly not having any of this. Walk angry, upset, squirming, large cat whose claws are approaching velociraptor territory into the house and over to upright cat carrier. Attempt to put cat into carrier. Cat does reverse frog leg splay thing with claws (I think that's the technical term for it) and blocks kitty insertion. Cat carrier falls over. I use profanity. Cat, shocked at my language, twists around and accidentally tags my face with some of those pocket scimitars of hers. Other cat watches with mild interest from across the room. I put cat down. Cat immediately bolts for the dining room. Other cat is directly in her escape route. Other cat, it must be noted, is large, and ornery, and has taken out a german shepherd, a plumber, several vet techs, skunks, racoons and at least one burglar. He watches first cat's approach with a lot more interest. First cat hits second cat like Ray Lewis going after the kicker on a busted fake field goal. There is a sound like two table saws having a bad first date. And then big mean boy cat is looking up at me with an expression like, "DID YOU SEE WHAT SHE JUST DID? NOT COOL, MAN, NOT COOL!" I shoo wounded pride cat out the door, then shut the door and the cat door. Cat who needs to go to vet is locked in with me. Or am I locked in with her? I find her in the dining room. I move furniture to get to her. She runs to the den. I find her in the den. I move furniture to get to her. She runs upstairs. Aha, I think. Upstairs. Smaller quarters. This is getting easier. I set the cat carrier back up and brace it, then go upstairs to follow her. Cat has gone to ground in the bedroom. I shut the bedroom door. This, as it turns out, is not one of my smarter moves. There is a noise coming from underneath the bed. It is a noise like this: WRRRRARRRROORRRAARRRROORRRAARRRR *HISS* I look under the bed. Angry cat is on one side. Elderly calico is sitting on the other side, one full bed-length away from her, minding her own damn business. This, of course, is the signal for angry cat to go all DeNiro "ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME?" and launch herself at the other kitty, who is roughly as prepared for this as Sweden would be for a full-scale invasion by the Narn Empire. I reach under and separate the two. Calico kitty sensibly gets the hell out of dodge. Angry cat goes back under bed. I get angry cat out from under bed and walk over to door, so as to place angry cat in carrier. At this point, I realize that cat carrier is downstairs, which is to say on the other side of the door, which is to say on the other side of the door which is latched shut so angry kitty wouldn't get away. Unfortunately, I now have two hands full of angry kitty, which leaves none for opening the door. I attempt to open door anyway. This goes about as well as you'd expect. Kitty dives back under bed. I crack the door, grab a blanket, and go after angry kitty. It quickly becomes clear that I am not getting angry kitty out from under the bed. I realize I am a tool-using mammal with thumbs, and systematically dismantle the bed. Blanket, off. Sheets, off. Mattress, off. Boxspring, off. What I am left with is a frame and a cat who has dug in all four claws like she's going to take the whole damn carpet with her if she goes. This does not quite happen, though it's a near thing. I wrap angry kitty in blanket, to the point where I am now carrying a large ball of Bugs Bunny cartoon special effect downstairs to the sound of a continuous MWARRARAROOOORORROAORAOROAROOROAR. I put the cat in the carrier. I close the carrier. I take the carrier to the car, and the car to the vet. At the vet, she is astonishingly well-behaved. And the look in her tiny, angry feline eyes says "Gotcha."
Set up cat carrier vertically, the better to drop large, anxiety-ridden, 13 year old cat who does not speak English and thus cannot be told to calm down because it's just a routine trip to get her nails trimmed and whatnot into it at the appropriate moment. Discover said cat is outside. Realize that said cat has roughly four thousand escape routes, and moves much faster than I do. Realize that said cat also has a brain the size of a walnut, and is likely to use precisely one (1) of those routes. Get between cat and escape route. Attempt to pick cat up. Attempt to pick cat up again. Attempt to pick cat up a third time. Actually pick cat up. Nearly drop cat. Adjust grip on cat, who is clearly not having any of this. Walk angry, upset, squirming, large cat whose claws are approaching velociraptor territory into the house and over to upright cat carrier. Attempt to put cat into carrier. Cat does reverse frog leg splay thing with claws (I think that's the technical term for it) and blocks kitty insertion. Cat carrier falls over. I use profanity. Cat, shocked at my language, twists around and accidentally tags my face with some of those pocket scimitars of hers. Other cat watches with mild interest from across the room. I put cat down. Cat immediately bolts for the dining room. Other cat is directly in her escape route. Other cat, it must be noted, is large, and ornery, and has taken out a german shepherd, a plumber, several vet techs, skunks, racoons and at least one burglar. He watches first cat's approach with a lot more interest. First cat hits second cat like Ray Lewis going after the kicker on a busted fake field goal. There is a sound like two table saws having a bad first date. And then big mean boy cat is looking up at me with an expression like, "DID YOU SEE WHAT SHE JUST DID? NOT COOL, MAN, NOT COOL!" I shoo wounded pride cat out the door, then shut the door and the cat door. Cat who needs to go to vet is locked in with me. Or am I locked in with her? I find her in the dining room. I move furniture to get to her. She runs to the den. I find her in the den. I move furniture to get to her. She runs upstairs. Aha, I think. Upstairs. Smaller quarters. This is getting easier. I set the cat carrier back up and brace it, then go upstairs to follow her. Cat has gone to ground in the bedroom. I shut the bedroom door. This, as it turns out, is not one of my smarter moves. There is a noise coming from underneath the bed. It is a noise like this: WRRRRARRRROORRRAARRRROORRRAARRRR *HISS* I look under the bed. Angry cat is on one side. Elderly calico is sitting on the other side, one full bed-length away from her, minding her own damn business. This, of course, is the signal for angry cat to go all DeNiro "ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME?" and launch herself at the other kitty, who is roughly as prepared for this as Sweden would be for a full-scale invasion by the Narn Empire. I reach under and separate the two. Calico kitty sensibly gets the hell out of dodge. Angry cat goes back under bed. I get angry cat out from under bed and walk over to door, so as to place angry cat in carrier. At this point, I realize that cat carrier is downstairs, which is to say on the other side of the door, which is to say on the other side of the door which is latched shut so angry kitty wouldn't get away. Unfortunately, I now have two hands full of angry kitty, which leaves none for opening the door. I attempt to open door anyway. This goes about as well as you'd expect. Kitty dives back under bed. I crack the door, grab a blanket, and go after angry kitty. It quickly becomes clear that I am not getting angry kitty out from under the bed. I realize I am a tool-using mammal with thumbs, and systematically dismantle the bed. Blanket, off. Sheets, off. Mattress, off. Boxspring, off. What I am left with is a frame and a cat who has dug in all four claws like she's going to take the whole damn carpet with her if she goes. This does not quite happen, though it's a near thing. I wrap angry kitty in blanket, to the point where I am now carrying a large ball of Bugs Bunny cartoon special effect downstairs to the sound of a continuous MWARRARAROOOORORROAORAOROAROOROAR. I put the cat in the carrier. I close the carrier. I take the carrier to the car, and the car to the vet. At the vet, she is astonishingly well-behaved. And the look in her tiny, angry feline eyes says "Gotcha."
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