Like most cats of her size and shape, HC is no fan of the vet. She HATES going. And, hate is a kind word here to be honest. In short, going to the vet ticks her off, so much so that last year she pooped in her crate on the way, partly in fear and partly in protest. She trusts no one there, no matter how nice or reassuring their actions may be. My girl knows what’s up and she likes none of it.
Her behavior is flat out deplorable in the exam room. My sweet, lovable fur angel turns into a rabid lion, hellbent on destroying the place. If she could take her paw and light a match, I feel quite certain she would burn that vet building down.
It’s embarrassing and I always leave apologetic, swearing that the next visit will be better and but then again, I know in my heart there’s no way it will be.
I’ve thought about HC’s vet visit perspective over the past few months and gained a different outlook on it. You see, it’s not so much what’s behind the door that makes her mad. It’s not knowing what’s going to happen once that door opens. HC likes to anticipate the worst, and I understand that. She builds a scene in her little cat brain and it’s one of absolute horror.
And, usually, she’s right. It is horrifying, complete with insulting weigh in on a baby scale and a thermometer up the posterior.
Some things in life are just that way. The bad scenario happens and there’s not anything you can do about it but live through it and get to the other side. It’s far better to face what’s behind that door though than spend a minute more in a cage, anticipating.