The Little One's First Big Adventure

As I mentioned in my previous post (which was surprisingly recent), I had to take the new addition to the vet. The $800 alleycat was shamefully overdue for his check-up (I had been dreading the lecture about the dangers of feline obesity as much as he was dreading the rabies shot), so he got to come along for the ride.

And what a ride it was. I loaded the alleycat into the hardest working (pink -- it was the only color they had) cat carrier in town, and packed the kitten into a banker's box. I highly recommend banker's boxes for all your moving needs: no packing tape required, and the handles double as convenient air holes if you happen to be transporting live animals. Beware, however, of using the handles to transport the box, because the live animal inside will try to claw your fingers to ribbons.

With the banker's box riding shotgun (and me trying to hold down the lid while staying out of reach of the clawed paws flailing out of the handle holes) and the pink cat carrier emitting piteous howls from the back seat, I managed to make it the vet's office mostly in one piece and pretty dang close to on time. I carried the box into the waiting room and anchored the top down with some big, heavy books while I went back out to the car for the cat carrier. Upon returning, I replaced the books with a big, heavy, highly-annoyed cat in a pink carrier.

Next up: "the paperwork." Round one was easy: got the name and birthdate... breed = alleycat... gender = male... description = large, grey/white, overweight, slight limp. Round two was more of a challenge: name, none; birthdate, unknown; breed, kitten; gender, female(?); description, small.

The vet's staff didn't find this funny, of course. “We can’t make a file if she doesn’t have a name.”

I am, of course, a firm believer in the “if you name it, you must keep it” school of pet adoption. So the new addition -- still on adoption probation at that point -- now has a file bearing the name “Kitten.”

On to the exam room. The little one checked out “cute” and perfectly healthy, except for a bad case of fleas that was quickly remedied by a super flea-killing pill. The $800 alleycat watched warily from the confines of his pink cat carrier. Jury’s still out on whether he was more terrified of (a) the presence of a 4.4-pound interloper in his life or (b) knowing that he was next in line for the dreaded rabies shot. He, too, checked out healthy, but more overweight than ever. I managed to forestall the lecture with lots of questions about low-carb cat food.

We departed with the new addition in a more manageable carrier, my wallet significantly lighter, and a banker’s box full of dead fleas (courtesy of the flea-killing pill). The alleycat got to ride shotgun on the way home, though, since I didn't have to worry about the dead fleas trying to jump out of the banker's box.