I am prepared when the Vet arrives. I leap from my cosy and run down the hall. Lynettea has shut the bedroom door and when I arrive at my cat flap it is bolted.
What to do?
As soon as the vet gets into the kitchen, I race back up the hall.
‘Where are you, Sasha? Come out, Sasha! Good boy!’
I stay quiet.
They go back into the kitchen and I can hear some rattling.
‘Where is he? Good boy, Sasha.’
I keep quiet.
I can hear the Vet poking around near the computer desk and some light darts up from a torch.
‘There he is, at the far end. Behind the bookcase.’
Drag, pull etc. of books and cartons.
He’s got me!
‘Good boy, Sasha.’
Now the Vet is feeling me and making personal remarks about my body. I decide to keep quiet, as I am pinned down.
Now we are heading into the kitchen and the door gets shut. The Vet puts me down and I run into the laundry, but Lynettea picks me up and puts me on the kitchen table, where the Vet does a nasty and too personal test, then jabs me with two needles.
‘Do you think he needs worming?’ I hear Lynettea asking.
The Vet goes to get tablets from his car.
So I leap on the fridge.
Now he is trying to grab me again. He can’t reach me properly. I leap off and Lynettea grabs me. Then it is weighing time, but my legs won’t stay on the scales. Finally they are all on the scales. 4.9 kilos.
The vet looks at my enclosure, my foods and my litterboxes.
Then he leaves.
‘Was that better, Sasha? You didn’t have to go in the cage or the taxi, or wait in the room with the dogs.’
I am speechless.
Let’s go for walkies. I want to get out!
