A close shave

Of all the things I had planned to do this afternoon (sleeping), it was not to spend over two hours in my carry case being poked and prodded by a bunch of strangers.

You'd think I go to the vet enough, without being dragged there when I'm perfectly fine. It's not like it's a treat for being good, or anything. (And I have been very good of late.) And it's not like we don't have a vet at the end of the street instead of a half-hour car-ride away. Sheesh!

So I get dragged to the Animal Emergency Centre -- right in the middle of a very pleasant dream, I might add -- and first up I'm forced to say hello to some grey matron-cat called Beth. She seemed OK, not sick at all. And as I've already said, I was fine. So why were we here?

And THEN Ellen tells me that the reason we're here is to see whether I'm a blood-match for Fox, who as I already mentioned in a previous post is sick and might need a transfusion.

Oh boy. That cowed me, because Lita was there too and she looked really sad. And Beth was being brave, so I let them take me away. No way was I going to be the pathetic scardey cat -- even though my heart was pounding a mile a minute and I couldn't help growling a bit. And then I heard Ellen tell them I could be vicious, which I thought was a bit rich when I was trying so hard.

They came over to my cage and checked me out, and although I only spat and hissed a little bit -- the tiniest amount -- they backed off pretty quickly. I couldn't help feeling rather pleased at that. Maybe it's worth having a bad reputation sometimes!

So they started on Beth first, and she just let them do whatever they wanted. They prodded and poked and shaved a patch of fur off! then stuck in the biggest needle you've ever seen and drew out some blood!

Well, that tore it, because no way did I want any of that to happen to me . . . yet I had to remember that Fox is sick and Lita is Ellen's and my friend . . .

In the end, it turned out that Beth was both a good match for Fox and, being bigger than me, a better size for donating blood. This meant the vet staff (who had been giving my cage a wide berth, because I'd growl at them if they came too close) persuaded Lita and Ellen not to have me tested. Despite my thinking them pathetic scardey cats, I confess I was rather relieved. I mean, I would have done it (scratching and biting), but I'd much rather not have a shaved patch on my neck for the next few weeks, thank you very much!

So I came home unscathed (and unshaved) after all that. Poor Fox will still have his surgery and Beth will donate blood if required. I'll keep you posted as to their progress, and give thanks to the cat gods for my deliverance.