Monday, September 29, 2008
None of the cats we've harboured has enjoyed being transported in the car. So all such jaunts, punctuated by yowls of protest, have been tests of patience and fortitude (probably for the cats also).
True to precedent, the Taffeta-cat "told me about it" this afternoon all the way to the vet, every time I changed direction or thumped over a seam in the pavement.
At the animal clinic, while Dr. Nick was carefully explaining the options and uncertainties -- and plainly, giving us Time To Think It Over, there was a rap on the consulting room door and #1 Son Unit arrived to be with poor old fur-face at this critical moment.
[Pause to reflect, somewhat sentimentally, that when the Rambler first took a cat to Dr. Susan -- mother of Dr. Nick -- thirty-five years ago -- Dr. Nick and #1 Son were toddlers...]
When "we were all clear that we were all clear," it was very quickly over.
Dr. Nick carefully swathed Taffeta in a big bath towel, and slipped her back into her carrier.
And there were no yowls from the back seat as we drove away. Not even a little one.