So before Joe Bob and I left the house, I naturally needed to get him into the carrier. Joe Bob has himself a very strong go-limp instinct when you grab him by the scruff of the neck, so I knew all I needed to do was grab him and lower him into the carrier.
I got up from my desk and went to see where he was. He happened to be walking down the hallway where the cat carrier was sitting (they’re laying everywhere in this house), so I opened the top of the carrier and turned around to grab him.
No fool he, Joe Bob went flying into the living room and hid behind the TV. I used a feather toy to try to coax him out, with no luck, and I tried to lure him out with a laser pointer, and he was not to be lured.
Finally, I decided to pull out the big guns, and reeled around the house screeching “Snack Time! Who’s ready for the Snack Time! Snack Time, Boogie!” The cats, who are accustomed to Fred handing out Snack Time, ran in fear from the screeching and were only brought back into the kitchen by the smell of the pouch of treats opening and being dumped onto a plate.
The other cats settled in to Snackin’ Time, but Joe Bob was no fool, and he stayed behind the TV until I realized that my hovering above the Snackin’ Time plate was far too obvious, and so I wandered off to get a few tasks done.
When I walked back into the kitchen, Joe Bob was bellied up to the Snackin’ Time plate and just starting to eat. I grabbed him up, carried him into the hallway, and put him into the carrier with nary a fight.
“But I don’t wanna be in the carrier!” Joe Bob protested, and I lifted up the carrier, speaking soothingly to him as I did so.
And then he darted out the front door of the carrier. Because why would it occur to me to check to be sure that the front door was closed? THAT WOULD MAKE SENSE, STUPID.
Joe Bob went galloping up the stairs, and I stomped and cursed, and then went up after him. Conveniently, he’d run into the master bedroom, so I closed the door and chased him around the room for a few minutes before he went flying into the bathroom to hide in the tub.
I shut the bathroom door and chased him back and forth a few times (not easy in a fairly small bathroom, yet somehow we managed it) before he huddled behind the toilet, believing I couldn’t see him, and I grabbed him up and carried him to the carrier. He made one feeble attempt at getting away – he pushed at the carrier with one of his big rabbit-like back feet – but since I had him by the scruff of the neck, I got him in there carrier pretty easily.
He didn’t utter a peep on the way to the vet’s office. I guess he didn’t get the Hellbeast gene his sister got.
* * * * * * *
Smackdown!
Spot and the Eyes of Lurve.
He’s IN the basket, but he’s not HAPPY about it.
Hatin’ you.
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Previously
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.