Shortly after I brought Sunny home, I wanted to take him in to be checked out by my vet. It was one of their techs who had suggested P.A.T.C.H. (Pet Adoption Through Caring Hands) when I stopped in to ask about pets they had up for adoption. The cats they had there were all special needs and after what I had gone through at the end of Nala's life, she thought I would be much happier with a healthy cat.
So, I made an appointment for Sunny's first checkup. The thing you need to understand is that Nala was so ridiculously easygoing, and loved car rides so much, that vet visits were a breeze. I would put on her harness and leash and carry her out to the car. I would set her on the passenger seat where she would promptly plop down in a comfortable sprawl. We would make the 1/4 mile drive to my vet's office, the wonderful Pompton Lakes Animal Hospital, I would scoop her up and we would walk in. She would calmly lounge in my arms among other cats, the yipping puppies and the huge, curious dogs. Nothing fazed her.
I was not so sanguine about Sunny's response to such a situation. I bought him a carrier. It's a soft-sided one that can even be strapped into the seat belts. One side unzips to fold down completely, while the other only unzips partially. It also opens from the top and has one zipper on the long side that is just big enough to get a hand through to pet him--that one's important.
So, the morning of his appointment arrived. Now, something that most cat owners know, unless they have one of the mushball mutants like my Nala was, is that cats hate being put into carriers. Trying to put a cat into a carrier is akin to stuffing an octopus into a box half the creature's size with one hand tied behind your back. Seriously, if you don't own a cat, I dare you to try it. I thought I was being smart. The carrier had been out and open so he had a chance to get used to it and I wouldn't have to do anything with it that day. I scooped Sunny up and scritched him to make it look like I was just being affectionate (yes, deception is a necessary component to this process) and casually walked towards the carrier. All of that was good.
There was one tactical error.
The carrier was in my dining room...which opens directly into the kitchen, the living room and contains the door to the basement. This was not a good plan. Suddenly as I walked towards the carrier, for no discernible reasons, in an instant Sunny's FCA triggered. That would be the "feline containment alert." He knew to the core of his little kitty being that this was NOT GOOD and the fight and flight (with cats, there is no OR in that bit of primal programming) mechanism engaged. The flight part was literal as he launched himself out of my arms, leaving behind the signature thin red lines of the feline defense system. I tried to calmly follow him and soothe him back into my arms, but once that FCA triggered, there was little hope. He eventually retreated to his first hiding place in my house, beneath the shelves under the stairs in the basement.
Sigh.
So, I decided instead of calling to just go over to the office, since it is so close. I walked in the door and the office manager looked up. Quickly noting my empty hands, she asked with a smile, "didn't you forget something?" Yeah, yeah, everyone's a comedian. I told her I had come in to re-schedule because of my tactical error. She laughed and told me not to worry. I was not the first person to have something similar happen. We rescheduled for a few days later.
This time, tactics were different. The carrier got moved to my bedroom, so the door could be closed behind me to prevent escape. I entered and closed the door. Sunny looked at me warily, but I moved swiftly. He was scooped up and plunked butt-first into the upended carrier as quickly as I could. Paws pushed out of the seams as I flipped the end back up and started zipping, but were quickly confined behind the nylon mesh. Success!!
Of course, once he was in the carrier, he expressed his distress. Now Sunny has his own little language. There are different meows to express different emotions, wants and needs. The two that are guaranteed to reach straight into my chest and rip out my heart in tiny little bits are his freaked out meow and his distressed meow. They both kill me. Let's just say that for my sake, it's a very good thing the ride to the vet's office is so short or I would wind up in an ICU.
As we sat in the waiting room, the distressed meows continued. I kept talking to him soothingly, as did the crazy cat-lady receptionist (God bless her, she has 25 or so cats, most of whom are special care needs). As I sat there, however, I reached a decision. I would risk coming out with nothing but a bloody stump and use that zipper just big enough to get a hand through.
That did the trick. He settled in the carrier and while the meows still happened, they were less frequent and less intense. Whew!
They showed me into an exam room and I put his carrier on the table and opened it. He came out warily, sniffing at the strange smells. I kept petting him, trying to keep him calm.
Now my vet is a wonderful guy. He told me when I first brought in Nala that he would always remember my pet's name, but apologized that he would probably forget mine. I told him that was fine, since my pet was the one who was his patient. He was wonderful to me and to Nala all through her final illness, as were all of his staff. (When the staff is in tears when you have to put your pet down, you know just how much they care.) He is also, however, that figure of terror in Sunny's world...a human male. As near as I can tell, the person who originally abused Sunny was a man because male voices scare him...and doc has a big loud one. He's a bluff, genial man, with a big voice. While he has a wonderful all-animal practice, his specialty is big dogs and you can tell why.
Doc walked in with a friendly greeting on his lips and Sunny did something I've never seen him do.
He froze.
In all of my visions of how this vet visit would go, that had never figured into the picture. I was imagining elbow length leather gauntlets, hissing, howling and mad chases around the small examining room. None of that eventuated. Sunny held perfectly still through his examination as Doc listened to his heart and lungs, checked his teeth and gave him the update for his shots. Jim, the tech came in with the scale and weighed him, petting him and telling him what a big handsome boy he was; not a peep, not a scratch, not a bite, not a howl or growl issued from Sunny. I was stunned. Exam finished, I presented the carrier again and unlike the two previous times, he went in not just willingly, but gratefully. I zipped him up, carried him out to pay for the visit, then back out to the car. Of course, once the zipper had closed, he felt safe enough to vocalize his distress again and again, I was grateful for the very short trip.
We arrived back at the house and I immediately put the carrier down and opened it. With one last call of distress, Sunny shot out like a streak. Once he got to the living room, he shook himself out and settled down for a good grooming, pausing only to accept a consoling stroke or two which he greeted with a purr. Bath complete, he hopped up onto the couch and curled up for a nap.
Going to the doctor is exhausting.
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