Vet Visit with Mouser and Fightin' Joe

So this morning I had the distinct pleasure of taking Mouser and FJ to the vet (another perk of unemployment!). It was a brand new vet down here, and I was hoping that one cat in particular would turn over a new leaf, in terms of his behaviour with people who need to examine him...and still want to live to tell about it.

Mouser was great - so great, in fact, that he didn't crap all over himself in the carrier, or nervously pee on the examination counter. He shedded like crazy, but he went through his exam with no trouble whatsoever. He's a chunky mouse these days, though - 15 pounds!

Fightin' Joe, on the other hand...

I tried to warn the lady at the front that he usually has to go to the "kitty dunk tank" - in other words, he usually gets knocked out so that the doctor may keep his limbs in tact and blood in his body. The assistant told me that the vet was going to see how far he could get, and then make a decision about knocking him out.

This vet was AWESOME, and his assistant was no slouch either. They managed to get Big Orange out of his carrier (which he really enjoys...seriously), keep Tinsel Ball in there, and put Orange on to the kitty scale with not a peep out of him. Twelve pounds.

Orange was moved to the examination table, and the vet was able to get his stethoscope under his belly, at which point, Joe's alter ego that we call "Cobra Cat" was unleashed.

Cobra Cat is mean, and loud. Mostly loud. Cobra Cat will sink back into his hind legs, gather up his energy, and then strike at anyone within three inches, baring his tartar-encrusted fangs and black-speckled gums.

Cobra Cat was no match for the vet and his assistant. Assistant held him by the scruff of his neck (giving him that lovely "Slow down! You're driving too fast!" look on his face), and later found out that he would also need to pin down his back legs. Cobra Cat must be restrained at all costs.

And then came the exorcism noises. Cobra Cat let out some of the most ungodly, primal noises I have ever heard. Assistant put a towel on CC's head after a couple of incidents that resulted in both Assistant AND Vet leaping back in fear, and tons of CC's fur being jettisoned off of his body. Tinsel Ball looked on silently, worriedly. As if the noise weren't bad enough, we were also all treated to the smell of Cobra Cat's rancid breath, which filled the room with each hiss. At one point, I said, "Buddy, your breath STINKS!," and Cobra Cat hissed at me in defiance.

To make a long story only somewhat shortish, Cobra Cat was given BOTH of his vaccines without the aide of anesthesia. He would not, however, give a fecal sample or let the vet check his ears. The only dental exam he got was what the vet was able to see when his fangs were bared.

My sweet orange cat returned once he was in the carrier, and we walked up front to pay. A man waiting with his pug in the reception area exclaimed, "I thought there was a tiger in there." I turned the carrier around to show him that Big Orange is, in some respect, a smallish tiger.

I thanked the vet and assistant profusely, and told them that they needed to take the rest of the day off. As I was watching the vet finish his chart, I noticed the last two words:

VERY AGGRESSIVE!

We're all at home now, and our blood pressures are just about back to baseline. Mouser is sleeping in front of the fireplace, and my big ball of fluff is sleeping with his head on my shoe. Tinsel Ball is resting comfortably under the couch, like always.

I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that it is only 10:30.