she's
actual
size

Aah, yes. There's nothing like starting off the day by trying to stuff an angry cat into a box.

Jaws had a vet appointment today, because she has been scooting her butt on the carpet and pooping in places she shouldn't be pooping. I had a hunch that the problem was the Gross Cat Thing that happened to her before, and it needed to be fixed. Now.

Usually, I don't have that hard of a time getting her into the carrier. I just sneak up on the cat, grab the cat, wad the cat into a ball with all the pointy bits on the inside, and stuff her into the carrier. Simple. But today she had her ESP hat on or something, because when she saw me coming for her she ran.

I found her cowering under the bed. I finally dug her out, wadded her into a ball... And the ball turned inside out so all the pointy bits were on the outside. It was like trying to hold a hedgehog. After much cursing and meowing and fumbling, though, I managed to get her into the box and shut the door.

She started crying.

Anyone who has a cat probably knows that sound, the "I'm gonna have a hairball and I'm in extreme distress and I am really really UNHAPPY!!" sound. Anytime Jaws gets put in the carrier, she starts making that sound.

I put the carrier outside, locked the door, and carried her down to the car. My neighbor was outside enjoying the morning, and watched me carry a mewling box to the parking lot. To his credit, however, he didn't say anything.

The crying was worse once we got into the car. She hates car rides, and the motion and noise of the car upsets her a lot. Dave calls it "singing"... But it sounds like crying to me. "Please let me out," I could hear her sobbing. "I don't know what I did and I don't know where we're going, but I know it's going to be Bad. Please, have mercy on me!"

I drove on.

About three minutes from the vet's office, I smelled it. She'd peed in the carrier. And of course I'd forgotten to put a towel in the carrier with her, so her long fluffy fur soaked the urine right up. I groaned as I pulled into the parking lot, because there was a second smell mixed with the urine... Shit. Literally.

I carried my pissy, shitty cat into the office. A lady with a whiny white German Shepherd eyed the carrier and said, "Oooh... Is that a white cat?"

"She used to be," I mumbled. I signed in and explained my predicament to the receptionist, who was most understanding. She gave me a roll of paper towels and some cleaner so that I could wipe out the carrier.

Wipe out the carrier? How was I supposed to do that with Jaws still in it? A guy carrying a small kitten walked by and glanced at the box at my feet... And was rewarded with a bristling hiss. He raised his eyebrows. "Unhappy cat?"

"Pissed cat," I said, wading up a paper towel and dabbing through the bars at the urine.

My fears had proved correct. Her fur had sopped up most of the liquid, and the shit was smooshed into her fur. Lovely.

"Jaws?" called the nurse, and I carried the dripping container inside.

Again I explained the current problem to the nurse. I realize that they must deal with cat shit and piss all day, but she took it most calmly. "Well, lets just have a look at her, shall we?"

For all the trouble it was to get her into the carrier, we couldn't get her out. She preferred to sit in the known pee situation than to deal with a new situation. We had to disassemble the carrier to get her out. When I finally lifted my dripping, smelly cat from the box, she hissed at the nurse.

"Oooh," cooed the nurse. "You made such a mess!" She offered to take the carrier outside to spray it out, an offer I gratefully accepted. But she did make me carry the angry, scared and dripping feline over to the scale.

My cat weighs 8 and a half pounds, slightly wet.

Finally the vet came in to examine her. Her poked her, prodded her, made a comment as to her filthy state (which I again explained), and decided that yes, she did need to have the Gross Cat Thing taken care of.

What is the Gross Cat Thing? Basically, she needed to have her anal glands emptied. In cats they usually take care of themselves, but because Jaws has such long fur, her anal glands get clogged. When they get clogged, it irritates her, and makes her drag her butt on the carpet and poop in the wrong places. So the vet gets a paper towel, inserts his fingers into her rectum, and squeezes until the glands get unclogged. Lots of brown fluid comes out. Very gross.

Now, I don't know what the anal glands are actually supposed to do, and I didn't ask. There are some things that are best left as a mystery.

I mentioned that the last time she had this done, it took three people to hold her down. (Frankly I don't blame her... If a stranger came up to me and wanted to stick his fingers up my ass and squeeze, I'd be a bit upset, too.) The vet flipped through her chart and saw the "Caution: uses claws" note. "Ahh..." he said. "Aah, I think we'll take her downstairs and I'll have a technician help me. We can restrain her better down there. Wait here."

And he carried off my dripping, partly yellow, smelly, shitty, angry and scared cat, leaving me to wait around with the urine-covered table.

I made myself useful and wiped up all the urine.

While I was waiting the nurse returned with my carrier. She'd reassembled it, sprayed it out, wiped it down, and disinfected it - which in retrospect seemed like a rather useless thing to do. I mean, I appreciated it very much, but I was just going to stick my dirty cat back in there and get it all dirty again inside.

Finally the vet returned with Jaws. She was really upset now. But she wasn't yellow! "We hosed her off while we were down there, to get some of the urine and feces off of her," he said, gingerly setting her back on the table. "She'll still need a bath when she gets home, though." I agreed.

Her anal glands were impacted, and when the vet drained them, they went "explosively." "It was pretty bad," he said with a grimace, giving me all sorts of Bad Cat Mommy vibes. "Since she's already had this done once, a year and a half ago, I'd say she'll need it done on a regular basis. Probably yearly," he said, making a note in Jaws' file.

Yay! Yearly! Won't Jaws be pleased!

I still had to get her home. The vet helped me stuff her back into the box. Curiously, now that she was Very Mad, she went into the box easier than before. Maybe she was distracted by thoughts of ways to kill me in my sleep.

I checked out of the vet's office without much incident, aside from more hissing and mewling from my cat. While I was buckling the carrier back into the car, though, I caught a whiff of her. "Phew!" I exclaimed. "You need a bath, BAD."

Cat bathing. Yay.

While driving home, I considered. She was already mad at me, which would make this bathing thing harder. But I also didn't have any shampoo that I could use on her; I've never had to give her a bath before! I pondered, and decided that dipping her into the water and scrubbing off her undersides and paws would have to suffice.

I emptied the bathroom of all the furniture I could move, got a towel, removed my clothing, locked the door, removed her collars, and readied the washcloth. The bath took two and a half minutes. I spend the next thirty minutes cleaning up.

It's almost twelve hours later, now, and she's sort of forgiven me. Her fur has fluffed back out to normal, so she doesn't look like a soggy rat. She smells... odd. Not like urine, though, so I'm going to ignore it. She let me pick her up when I got home from work, so I suppose that she's starting to forget about the ordeal.

Or... She's waiting for me to let my guard down. I'm sleeping with the lights on tonight.