Yesterday was Matt’s day off so I scheduled a 4:15PM veterinary appointment for our cat Snickers since she was due for her annual checkup and shots. I expected that Matt would not have too much difficulty getting the cat loaded in her crate and sent to the vet. She is, after all, a very sweet and usually gentle cat. Little did I realize, the shear power of terror that the carrying crate holds over her.
I got a call at 4PM from my beloved husband, who was in a complete state of panic. He informed me that not only had he failed to get the cat loaded into her crate after chasing her around the house for the last 40 minutes, but that she had peed and pooped in two rooms of our apartment while trying to escape him. I asked off work and rushed home to fix my stupid cat problem. When I got there, it was 4:15. I changed into grubby clothes and found my cat hiding in the air-conditioning closet in a puddle of her own pee. I had Matt hold the crate semi-vertical and then scooped up my stinking cat. It took me five minutes and a fight with stray limbs before the cat slid into the crate. We arrived just down the street to the vet’s office about 10 minutes late and saw the vet soon after. By 4:40PM, the vet gave the cat her shots and we were all on our way home with the cat’s mowing for music.
I considered myself lucky because Snickers hissed at me only once and never tried to bite or scratch me during the whole ordeal while Matt had arm himself with oven mits just to get near her.
Then came the bath…
Since she had peed on herself, I had no choice but to wash her off and that led to Snickers and I being locked in the bathroom screeching at each other for 30 minutes. When the deed was finished, the cat, half the bathroom, two towels, a blanket, and I were all sopping wet. Out of self-defense, I have never tried to bathe my cat before and I hope to never do it again. I have scratches all over my legs, torso, and arms where her claws dug into me. Ironically, she wasn’t really trying to claw at me. She was actually trying to climb over my shoulder to escape the downpour under which I shoved her. I never did get all the soap out of her fur, but at least she doesn’t smell like pee anymore. It took her five hours and one coughed up fur/soap ball just to lick all of the tangles out of her fur because I didn’t have the heart to blow dry her after everything else she had gone through earlier in the day.
I will make a point in defense for both my cat and my husband. Matt and Snickers have known each other casually for a couple of years, but they haven’t lived with each other for more than two months. It should have dawned on me that she would treat him with suspicion because of that fact. I also should have realized that Matt, who has always had dogs and never cats, would not have the slightest clue how to handle a feline or calm it down. Then again I know that cat better than anyone else on the planet and even I am not sure how to get her to stop hating the carry crate or excessive amounts of water.
Does anyone have any constructive ideas?