Yesterday Hazel went to the vet for her annual checkup and shots. It wasn’t pretty.
Getting her into the carrier takes major deception similar to a CIA mission. She’s a cat. She senses things and I ooze insecurity. I considered false identification and camouflage but she’s smarter than that. She can smell fear.
It has to be the first appointment so I can snatch her as soon as I put food down.
When she sees food, her guard goes down. It’s like cat porn. Any other time she would be under the sofa, bed, whatever, if she even suspects (she always does) that there is a vet trip in her future.
Then there is the weight and how I would explain that to the vet. My feeble attempts to get her to lose weight have been futile. She steals food. She can’t jump but somehow gets to the food. She’s 12 so I worry about senior cat issues too.
She passed with flying colors with some caveats. There is stiffness, maybe arthritis, in her joints. She moves cautiously (except when stealing food). The vet gave some pills for that.
We discussed weight loss strategies. Hazel is not the problem. She will eat any food she can get her hands on. Normally that would mean limiting her access.
Gracie (the youngest) is the issue. The little diva likes to dance around, check the chipmunks and otherwise not eat in a timely fashion. (I swear I saw her do the entire Nutcracker Suite on her tiptoes rather than eat.) This requires me to stand guard and then remove the food.
Sometimes I have better things to do. Like my blog. Or go to the bathroom. Lickety split, Hazel is at the bowl doing the neighborly thing of cleaning up any remaining chow so the dish can go in the dishwasher (such a thoughtful cat).
We left the vet covered in fur. Serious fur. Hazel sheds when she’s nervous. Any talk of diet makes her nervous.
I love hope. It’s what makes me think this time will work!
Here she is in her thinner days.