“How do your cats usually do at the vet?” the vet asked me.
I shrugged. I don’t regularly take my cats to the vet.
Recently, the city of Iowa City sent a strongly worded letter suggesting that my eldest cat Theo was due for his yearly rabies shot. I’m not one to run afoul of the law, so I called up our local veterinarian clinic and scheduled an appointment for Theo and Meowalicious. Kill two birds with one stone. Two cats, as it were.
And so it was that I came to be standing across from the vet, fielding questions about my cats.
“I guess we’ll find out how my cats do,” I told the vet, unzipping Theo’s carrier.
***
Theo’s least favorite part was when the vet shoved a thermometer up his butt. Meowalicious didn’t like that either.
They both almost lost their minds when the vet gave them their rabies shots. Meowalicious peed. Theo mewled. It was an unpleasant experience.
“I’ve recently developed white coat syndrome,” I attempted to make a joke to the vet, “looks like it is has rubbed off on my cats.”
The vet didn’t laugh. They smiled politely and continued inserting things into my anxious feline companions.
I stroked Meowalicious during the visit. Let Theo smell my fingers. Told them they were good kitties. I comforted my cats like I wish somebody would comfort me when they strap me up to the blood pressure gauge at University of Iowa Health Clinics. Thankfully, a doctor hasn’t put a thermometer up my butt in years. Although, I am almost due for a colonoscopy. 44.
It is unpleasant being poked and prodded. I empathized with Theo and Meowalicious as they were poked and prodded.
***
Nearly $400 later, Theo and Meowalicious left the vet with a clean bill of health.
“Next time, call ahead and we can give you tranquilizers for your cats,” the vet told me after I paid.
“Were they that bad?” I asked.
“No, but it might help their anxiety.”
“Got anything you can give me?” I tried to make another joke.
I received another polite smile. My self-deprecating material was wasted on this vet.
It is a four minute drive from the veterinarian clinic in Iowa City to my home. On the second of those four minutes, I smelled something foul. It took me a moment to recognize the smell.
“Did you poop, Theo?” I shouted.
I rolled the windows down and held my breath. Sure enough, upon pulling into my driveway, I confirmed my fear. Theo pooped.
“Bad boy, Theo!” I told him. He shrugged and ran into the house to hide underneath a bed.
Look, I’ve not done well at the doctor over the past two years. But I’ve never pooped in the car after a visit.
Cowardly Theo.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 