OK, Just One More Kitty Tale (no tissue alert!)

After having to put kitty Fred down last week, we have been comforted by one of our two remaining cats, Sox.  He's the one that thinks he's a dog.  He wags his tail, brings a ball and drops it to initiate a game of fetch...everything but bark.

Then there's Charlotte.  She is just a bizarre and often horribly unpleasant cat.  Charlotte started off delicate in temperament, a lovely little ball of fluff adopted with Sox at the age of eight weeks old.  After a few months, she appeared to have developed a crush on Fred and thus determined that she could not love two boy kitties, so she would HATE Sox.  She skulks, growls, hisses and hides until we go to bed, at which time she appears for limited petting and spontaneous shedding, the fur somehow aimed with remarkable accuracy at my eyes.

Recently, we noticed a sort of stinkerooni when Charlotte was present.  Her fur wasn't looking so fabulous, and I figured she was just getting lazy about grooming.  I could feel a few knots building up in the coat on her back during rare sessions of being permitted by Her Royal Viciousness to give a pet.  Then she started to act bizarre around food, growling, snatching bits of canned food and running off with it, then letting out a wicked yowl and running in circles with her belly to the floor.  Clearly, there was an issue and I suspected she had something wrong and painful in her mouth.  I managed to get her to the vet.  Barely.  Thank heavens for vast amounts of catnip.  It appears that in addition to wicked matting in her fur, she also has some major gum yuckiness going on.  Now I was charged with having to give her oral antibiotics and oral painkiller until her return visit after the weekend.  I pleaded with the vet to give her whatever shots he could because I don't OWN a shark suit or Kevlar gloves.  I couldn't imagine surviving the experience of attempting to give Charlotte meds.  Oh my.

So Charlotte was sent home with meds, at which time I immediately opened a bottle of wine.  We could both have used some, but...there are rules I suppose.  Why oh why didn't the vet give me kitty Valium or blow darts?  It took two adults, a large beach towel and a lot of trickery to get that lunatic cat on the counter.  We got in one medication and she shot out of the towel and across the room like a bullet, leaving bleeding limbs in her wake.  Oh well.  At least we got the antibiotic in her.  The ramifications of this have come in the form of an exploding cat.  She stands in the litter box, but insists on hanging her caboose over the edge, doing a remarkable amount of damage to the floor.  Thank heavens I have a teenage son who has been charged with responsibility for the cleanup.  I knew revenge for his behavior could be sweet, but this is the BEST! ;-)  The howling from the kitty's bathroom is hysterical.  I hear him yelling, "HOW HARD IS IT TO KEEP YOUR BUTT OVER THE LITTER?"  I laugh.  He doesn't.  I laugh more.

Charlotte was to return to the vet yesterday morning for a semi-anesthetized grooming, aka a good shave of all of the hair knots, followed by a dental cleaning under anesthesia.  I got out the nearly-antique cat carrier that has contained many a fine large cat.  Apparently, it was not designed to withstand the likes of Charlotte.  I put a catnip toy in the box, let her get a good nose hit from the container of catnip and scooped her up.  While putting on my shoes and grabbing the car keys, I heard a terrific scuffle and a bang, then saw the grey ball of fur shoot past like a rocket.  She had quite literally rammed a Charlotte-shaped hole out the end of the carrier, leaving the rim covered with bits of fur, and disappeared.  Sigh.

I rescheduled her procedures for this morning.  I found the 2nd old carrier, smaller and providing less room to build up the momentum to charge.  I wrapped the ends with duct tape, inside and out.  I had left the damaged carrier within eye shot to trick her.  It worked.  I calmly walked past her, turned, snatched and slam dunked that beast into the carrier.  I'm no dummy!  I raced her to the van, slipped the seat belt through the handle, and shoved a seriously thick hardcover novel against one end, pressing the other against the seat.  We zipped off to the vet, where I warned them that I was not about to let go of the ends to sign in and have Cujo the Cat blast out the end of the carrier.  I apologized to everyone in advance for any harm she may cause, once again telling them this is likely to be the one and only chance to get it all done.  Clearly they heard me.  There are a number of glaring, "CAUTION" stickers all over her paperwork and they indicated they would have her until about 4 p.m.

All this for about seven pounds of fluff.  Good grief.