Gracie here. This week the lady peep took me to the V-E-T. (They think I don’t know it when they spell it but the magic portal to hell came out and was sitting on the living room floor. It was just a question of who.)
I was not a happy camper but I did serenade her with my best version of Carmen. Really good and loud. Very loud. Thumping headache loud. We did Carmen over and back and a nice aria inside the vet’s office. There are office cats and I wanted them to know I had arrived. The diva is here! For eight pounds I can deliver!
The vet does weird things but this trip wasn’t too bad. No stick up my butt (seriously, don’t you do flowers and dinner before you get so personal?) and she didn’t check my ears (which are perfect).
There was some discussion on my picky eating and frequent barfing. It was so sterile. There was no talk about how well I could place it and over how many surfaces at once. My barfs are Olympic worthy. I like the waterfall version. You start on top of something. Chairs with a cloth seat are best. It rolls down the leg and onto the floor. Score!
The vet tried to pry my mouth open. I’m well known for not letting people looking inside my mouth. It’s even marked on my file. She did a side peek and said gingivitis. What in the blazes is that? My chompers are just fine!
At the end they did a blood draw. A tech named Dracula did that. Seriously, again an invasive procedure with no sushie or nip to court me first. A head scritch doesn’t cut it.
We’re waiting for results but there may be a dental procedure in my future. I’m going to practice a few more songs for that trip. Suggestions welcome.