Fair Warning As To Who Is In charge
This morning the sun was bright and the air was clear. This was the day that Butter Ball would be grabbed and snatched and put into the borrowed pet carrier for a visit to the vet. Starting this last Monday we had begun the begging and pleading. It started out as a “go.” Butter Ball came and sat on my lap, purring, and I put my arms around his body and held him firmly with his legs under my arms and we made it to the carrier. Faster than a wind up toy his hind feet began moving with claws out. If he was moving so fast, how did I know that his claws were out? One set of Butter Ball’s hind claws used the palm of my left land as a launching pad.
The carrier was immediately put into the car to be returned to the vet clinic . . . empty. The garage emptied out of cats as if their lives had been on the line instead of caring humans wanting to make their lives better.
I think in utter disappointment I busied myself taking some plants out of the porch and gave them a good washing with the garden hose to get the winter’s dust off. Dennis got the vacuum going and before long shelves were being cleaned, extra items that had found their way into the porch over winter headed for the recycling bin. Furniture was moved for a totally vacuumed floor. One thing lead to another and by noon we had a fairly cleaned and organized porch. A clean porch is like a clean car. The clean car drives more efficiently and the clean porch beckons one to stay longer.
Butter Ball thinking he is totally untouchable in his favorite spot. Funny thing . . . he is.
The entire time of all this activity Butter Ball chose his favorite hiding spot. The base of some of the lilacs is filled with dry leaves and it allows the occupant to keep a vigil for any on-coming threat. The visit would have been good for Butter Ball to make a diagnosis of his skin rash. All that I had left in my arsenal was a photo I had taken last week when the timing was just right of the area that was the most irritated. I headed to the vet clinic with my camera and they assured me it was not mange. I came home with a spray for topical skin infections. Tomorrow morning when the cats are their most friendly, I will do what I can. What is upsetting is . . . Butter Ball 5, Grammie 0. Good grief, I am 71 and cats are in charge.