You scurry back through the bright lights and past a yappy dog in another exam room.
“Is everything okay?” you ask, “Are you going to have to drug her?”
“She is, uh ... agitated,” the vet says. “I just thought if she saw you, it might calm her.”You smile at the vet, but you secretly think the vet must be an idiot if she can’t handle a 5-pound tabby cat. You wonder if you should switch vets. You promise yourself you will Google new vets when you get back to the car.
You walk into the sterile room and spy Tippy scrunched in the back corner of her cat carrier, hissing. Tippy is not normally a hisser, but this situation seems to bring out the worst in her. She sees you and thinks she’s saved. She starts meowing loudly—Take me out of here!You walk over and coo, Hey Tippy, it’s okay, I’m right here! Just a quick exam and a few shots, that’s it! I love you. You’re fine.
Tippy reaches her little paw through the side and you reach back to her, attempting to communicate with this darling fluffy creature that you have adored for going on 10 years now.Tippy claws your hand fiercely and draws blood.
You are surprised, but try to act like you’re not, even as the blood is gushing from four perfectly symmetrical scratches.“Are you all right?” gasps the vet, immediately handing you some tissues.
You tell here you’re fine, but you’re not fine. You’re mad at Tippy. Sweet little Tippy. At home you charm her, but not here.