I got up earlier than normal this morning so I could take my cats to the vet. The last of my babies (call me a crazy cat lady if you want to) to live with me. I haven’t been near a vet in a month when I was forced to pick up my 13 year old dog after he had passed away. 13 years old, just a child really…Needless to say that wasn’t the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had. I cried and cried for days and claimed I would never love anything as much as I loved him. I’m only a month into my claim, but I feel that it’s a true claim. You can never replace something you love.
I was fine most of the morning going through my normal routine, up, shower, dressed, ate, then it was time to find the cats. Indie, my calico was easy to find. She was still asleep in her favorite chair to sleep in. I assume it’s her favorite since she is always in it. Rogue, on the other hand wasn’t as easy. I ended up giving up and waiting on the couch for her to appear, eventually she did. I got them rounded up and put in the carrier. They were whiny as I would be on hour 12 of no food and water, but I know it was more than that. It became even clearer it was more than that as we got in the car and headed down the road. The clawing started, followed by mile after mile of screaming and crying. (Yes, animals scream and cry).
I couldn’t stand the sound of them going wild with what I assume was fright in the backseat. Did they really know that I was taking them to a vet to be fixed and declawed? Fixed.. I say that like there was something wrong with them. In all honestly they are perfect, loud, always in my way, and still perfect. Or was it more that they hadn’t been in a car since we got them and brought them home? No matter the reason, I talked to them the whole way to vet, explained what was going on, that they’d be okay, and that Kris would pick them up on Friday.
We got to the vet’s office and the noise stopped. I was early, it’s a very wicked habit to have in times like this. (Say I’m over reacting if you must… I don’t care). I sat in the parking lot until 10 minutes after my appointment time just trying to decide if I was able to walk through the vet doors without a flashback. I did walk through, I did have a flashback, but it was…controllable? I suppose that’s a good word for it. All the wrong images flood back into your mind when you don’t want them too. Bad things can never come back when you’re all cuddled up warm and safe in bed, where it’s perfectly normal to breakdown and cry if you want to. No, it’s always in public. What a cruel joke for a mind to play. Like I’ve said many times, I don’t deal with loss well.
It didn’t get any easier as my time in the building seemed to drag on. Of course they want you to go into an exam room and wait. So we did. The vet was nice enough, and the room was warm enough, but I still wasn’t comfortable and they knew that. My cats pretty much attacked the vet. They didn’t like him, I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t like him much if I were them either. He asked if they were always with the family or if they had at one point ever been a stray. I asked him why and he told me that if they have ever been a stray or never been around dogs they would put them in a private room of their own. I’ve had them their entire lives, but they hate dogs, and I didn’t want them separated. My answer “they were strays”. So I lied, big deal, I wanted them away from everything else. Call me selfish.