All three cats went to the vet on Saturday for their annual checkup/torture-fest. Lunchboy had to go buy a second cat carrier before the appointment because we gave away our old one when we dropped off Pepe at his new home. Because the new carrier didn't smell like cat fear and sweaty paws and vet office, Griffin and Cringer were unsure what to make of the gigantic plastic thing that appeared so suddenly in the middle of the living room. They investigated warily, doing that endlessly amusing cat head-bobbing-up-and-down thing, eventually going so far as to jump on top of it and rub their faces against the corners.
Once all three of them are in the cat jail, though, it gets ugly fast. They cry and then hear the other ones crying and then they cry louder out of collective fear and anxiety. "I am scared!!!" they say. "Hear how scared I am!! But the other two are scared, too, so I should probably be more scared than I am! Now I AM REALLY SCARED!"
Then they shed and whine and by the time we get to the vet they've tired themselves out with all the drama, so then they shut up and await their fate. It's a LOT of fun, let me tell you. And it gets even more fun when the vet hands us the bill times three.
They are, of course, fine. Scully lost weight. Cringer is edging up toward 20lbs because she eats all the food and runs only when chased. Griffin is the same weight, though it's hard to tell because she squirms so hard trying to get under our armpits and escape back into the carrier. It's funny how hard they protest about being put into the carrier at home, but how eager they are to get back into it once they're at the vet.
Once they're back at home, they forgive fast, usually because they're too busy hiding and sleeping off the effects of their shots. I seriously think that three cats might very well equal one small child (please call me on this later in life), except that I hear you can't leave your child under the bed until it's ready to stop sulking.