We closed the doors to the bedrooms last evening, and the cats began to fear and tremble. This rare event means the closing off of hiding spaces in preparation for the most dreaded of all feline events, Going To The Vet. Pippin even decided that hiding (downstairs) was a more productive use of his time than eating his dinner. If you know Pippin, that's a dramatic decision.
Perhaps due to the totalitarian threat implied by the doors, they came along fairly quietly when it was time to enter the carriers. Two cats, two carriers. Some authorities advise that if your cats get along with each other, as ours do, you could use just one carrier. But considering what Pippin does in his fear in the carrier, it's just as well that Maia not be there. Also, a cat carrier in our house is like an electron shell that only holds one electron. If you open up the shell when there's already an electron there, it shoots out. You'll never get a second one in at the same time.
At the vet's, though, it's entirely different. Here, getting them out is the trick. When we opened up Maia's carrier, she cautiously stuck out her head and one paw, staying in that attitude for a long time. When she finally finished emerging, I intoned, "That's four small steps for a cat, one giant leap for cat kind."
They're doing fine, and everybody's shots are now up to date.
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