Vet visit

1625/18th September 2023

It would appear that to an extent at least, my nerves are in much better shape than they were not so long ago.

The fiasco of getting Willow to the vet yesterday would once have reduced me to a quivering wreck.

It wasn’t until Willow and I were in the examining room that I noticed the absence of trembling and talking incoherently which has often been my condition during past vet visits.

Let me relate the story in order for this to make sense.


What I have realised is that when it comes to cats and vet visits, Grant and I are not what you would call coordinated.

Animals and cats in particular detect anxiety in their person and I believe they interpret it to mean one of them is getting a pill or going to the vet.


Willow’s sore eye had an appointment at 3.30. She was sound asleep in a corner of my room, so it would be easy just to pick her up and…

At ETD 15 minutes:

Grant sauntered casually to the door:

“I’m going to get the car out.”

My cue to fetch the carrier.

Noting that the patient was still in dreamland, I left the room, silently closing the door behind me.


30 seconds later I returned to find door open, cat gone. Grant perplexed.

The hunt ensued. Willow has been using Lucy’s old “safe place” to hide.


Out shot…Blackie.


We always allow lots of time for rounding up whichever cat it is, but what do you do when the cat has simply vanished?

Grant checked the entire basement. Not there.

I checked the other rooms. No Willow.

Then, both believing the other hadn’t looked properly, we swapped. I searched down and he looked up.

Finally we had to do what we’ve never done before:

“I’m so sorry, but we can’t find the cat!”


“No problem. Call us when you do.”

We returned to the hunt.

Needless to say, by now the other cats spooked, were running for cover.

In my room along one wall is a bench on which sits my printer and assorted stuff. The hiding place is beneath it.

Grant had looked, flushing out Blackie.


Under the bench, a lot more stuff.

Stationery, printer ink…stuff. I double-checked: our girl was not there.

Putting my head on the floor I dragged out plastic containers of more stuff.

Tax papers, photographs…

We had both already looked, but grey cats blend in with shadows.


At the back a feline-shaped shadow.

“She’s here!”

Carrier fetched, cat enclosed. Calling:

“Bring her at 4.30.”

Half an hour to kill.

Willow was wailing pitifully, so Grant decided to let her out in a spare room with the door firmly closed.

Wailing! Wailing! You have never heard such a sad tale of woe.


Grabbing a big pillow, I thought:

“I’ll go sit with her.”

Open door cautiously, ignoring that:

Willow is an escape artiste.

She shot past going at warp speed. I had no chance to see her trajectory but I groaned, imagining Grant’s reaction.

“Catch her before he finds out!”

Fat chance. The man said nothing, worse than if he called me an idiot.


Instant replay.

Down the stairs, up the stairs.

This time definitely not under the bench.

Grant all but pulled the living room apart and then apparently gave up, taking off his shoes and going back downstairs.

How could I tell the vet this?


A last check under the sofa. There was that shadow again:

“She’s here!”


“I’ll put my shoes back on and get the car out again. Don’t let her out!

As if I’m stupid or something.

We made a fast journey faster.


The eye had looked a bit better, but it’s as well we took Willow to the vet because she has a scratched cornea.

Ointment to be applied 3 times daily.

How can I manage this without blowing up the amazing ritual of Willow presenting herself twice daily for her liquid medicine?

Because if that turns into catch-me-if-you-can I’ll slit my wrists!


Needless to say, I took my camera along and captured some moody pictures of the darkening, damp afternoon.



The wetness and the greyness and the sharp contrasts appeal to me.

Who knows why?


Arriving home, the fact that it was dinner time may have had something to do with my being forgiven for my ineptitude and supper went down a treat.

The possibility of a meal not being forthcoming is a good motivator for finicky fuss-cats.


In conclusion:

There is no such thing as being sneaky with a cat. They are mind readers.

If you make a plan, they will scupper it.

I have too much stuff.

7 thoughts on “Vet visit

  1. Oh, what a story! All I can say is that the other cats were sure happy none of them were the patient who had to go to the vet … they must have had a great party when you (finally) left with Willow 😄. Best wishes for Willow’s eye (and also to the administrator of the eye medication).

  2. I remember when I had a cat that she always sensed when it was time for the ‘Vet Basket’. Usually very affectionate, she would scratch me mercilessly as I struggled to get her inside. I eventually had to resort to using oven gloves for Vet visits, to save arriving with blood still running down my arms.
    Best wishes, Pete.

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