Current mood:

frustrated

Oh, the felinity!
Well. We recently had a MOST unpleasant experience at the hands of Mom-The-Bitch, although I'll wager I got the brunt of the horridness by far.


It all started when Mom brought out the Small-Room-That-Goes-Places. I figured out quite a while ago that it never goes anyplace I want to be, so I immediately relocated underneath the couch. My brother, however, takes any sign of human commotion as "potential feeding" and came to investigate, and was summarily captured. Of course. *rolls eyes* Unfortunately, it wasn't long before I was also tracked down and removed from hiding to be stuffed in the SRTGP with Caramon.

After a lot of bumping and jostling and cursing from mom and yowling from my brother, we were put in the car, which always happens. We hate this. I have an unfortunate tendency to get carsick on winding roads, and Mom always ignores our requests to change the radio station. Fortunately the trip was not too long (or winding) and we arrived without major incident. Then Mom took the SRTGP out of the car and I saw with horror that we were at...

THE VET.

For those of you who have been fortunately spared the experience, this is a horrible place. The air reeks of fear, dogs, and a thousand shouting territory-sprays. When you get inside, they inject you with things, draw your blood, and stick probes into regions I cannot mention in polite company. I've seen humans talk about such horrors on daytime television, calling them "abductions", so it seems no one and nothing is safe from The Vet. The fact that Mom repeatedly brings us here just proves that she is a sadistic bitch, in my opinion.

This visit in particular was no different, involving several repetitions of the above assaults and indignities. Caramon growled and tried to wriggle away during the process with little success. I attempted to play dead in hopes that the foul beings would have no interest in taking samples from a corpse, but to no avail. Finally we were bundled back into Small-Room-That-Goes-Places and taken back to the large urine-smelling "waiting area". The trial was at least over with... or so I thought.

The Vet, it seems, had turned one of us to the dark side and made him a willing cohort in his torturous plans. This large black feline roamed the office freely, wearing a collar that said "Oscar" (although "Judas" would have been more apropos). He sauntered smugly over to the SRTGP and stuck his nose up to the door, no doubt to gloat or try to indoctrinate shattered souls into his cause.

This is the point where Caramon lost it.

Seeing the enemy at the gate, as it were, my brother launched himself into a full Berzerker blood-frenzy. Screaming in rage, he attacked the door as if he intended to claw straight through it. Mom, hearing the sudden commotion, came over and tossed the interloper away. Unfortunately, the down side of a berzerker rage is it compels you to fight. If there are no longer any enemies nearby, you attack whoever is in the viscinity. Namely, me.

After a moment of shock at my brother flinging himself at me with such aggression, I dropped into a meditative stance in preparation to defend myself using the Eastern Arts. Some might mistake this state of deep focus as "going totally limp like a cowardly dishrag", but I assure you, I was merely preparing to launch a brave and skilled return attack. Despite my brother's midless rage, the Small-Room-That-Goes-Places is barely large enough to hold the both of us comfortably and calmly. Finding himself without much room to maneuver, Caramon was making the SRTGP rock and bounce fairly cartoonishly.

While I was gathering my Chi, and Mom was frantically trying to get the door of SRTGP open, the Judas-Oscar returned and leapt to cling onto the mesh of the door and spit obscenities at us through the bars. The noise drew my brother's attention, and he valiantly launched himself at The Enemy. Unfortunately, the door was still closed. On the good side, the violent collision of his head with the door both knocked The Enemy off his perch, and made a rather melodic ringing sound. On the bad side, once he had picked himself up, I was again the only viable target in sight. My concentration had been broken by the feline-battering-ram demonstration, and I quickly dropped back into a meditative state.

It was hardly necessary, however, as a moment later the Judas-cat leapt op top of Small-Room-That-Goes-Places and began stabbing his paw down through the air vents in mockery of our imprisonment. Caramon, never one to give up, began launching himself at the ceiling in an attempt to smite The Enemy, but only succeeded in ricocheting himself rather violently off the roof several times. To try and keep him from giving himself (further) brain damage, Mom grabbed the evil cat and skidded him across the tile floor of the room as several Nurse-Minions came to "help". (As if I would trust assistance from allies of The Vet! Ha!)

Mom managed to wrestle the door of SRTGP open at last, just as Judas-Cat, in a last burst of madness, launched himself back across the room and into the SRTGP with us! I can only imagine what gruesome violence would have ensued in that closed space; fortunately a Nurse-Minion grabbed Oscar by his tail and hauled him back out in a most undignified manner (to my delight), tossing him into a side room and shutting the door. No doubt she recognized the unquenchable spirits of two cats who will never be converted to the side of The Vet, and knew that their feline lackey was no match!

My brother, confused and hysterical at this point, bolted out the open door and down a hallway. If I had not still been deeply in inner focus, I could have told him that there was nothing down there but offices of The Vet, and certainly the last place he wanted to be. Mom returned with him momentarily, while Nurse-Minions were busily peering in at me and assessing my fortitude, no doubt. One noted that my nose was bleeding slightly from a glancing shot my brother had landed via blind luck. Unfortunately for me, proper meditation requires a slow return process, and so I was still limp and unresisting as they removed me to the back. Fortunately, this time I was submitted to nothing more undignified than having my nose washed and bactined.

I was brought back to the waiting area and handed to Mom, who brought me over to the door of SRTGP wherein my brother was sulking. Upon seeing a cat-shape outside, he immediately recommenced spitting and squalling in a complete temper tantrum. I assumed his uncooperative attitude would mean he had to remain in SRTGP on the way home while I was carried and petted by Mom, since this seemed only fair. Instead, one of the smirking Nurse-Minions brought out a small cardboard container. I didn't realize until Mom attempted to stuff my half-limp form into it that it was intended for ME! Unable to bear this final, ultimate indignity, I threw form to the winds, broke my meditation and bolted out of the box to secret myself under a large display of dog food. To my dismay, the shelf of kibble was shorter than Mom's arm, and I was dragged out humiliatingly by my scruff and stuffed in the box. (Bitch.)

But, we made it home again, and I suppose all's well that ends well. I'm communicating with fellow felines in the International Vet Resistance, and I might even forgive Mom someday if there is gooshy food on the horizon. We shall see. My brother is still sulking. Anything you want to add, Caramon?

they stuk things in my butt. i hate the wurld.

Well. Until next time, then.