Crown Prince Captain Capernicles

I’m told my attitude toward my pets will change when I have children. My sister never fails to remind me that once a baby enters the picture, I will realize that my beloved tuxedo kitty is not He Who Shall Inherit the Earth and All That is Holy, but is, in fact, just a cat.

Until then, I shall maintain my illusions that he is a princely demigod and treat him as he is accustomed. Which includes, filed under ‘Fine Moments in Cappy History,’ getting sprayed by a pair of mating skunks out the back of the house on my way to work as I attempted to open the window to rescue my little snugglebunny, who was apparently being attacked. Since he’s an indoor cat, his presence outside being attacked by a strange being were slim to none and made ZERO sense, but love knows no boundaries, now, does it? We won’t talk about the fact that I spent the majority of this episode screeching and pounding my fists in against the near-painted-shut window, shouting, “MOMMY’S COMING! HANG IN THERE CAPPYYYYYYY!” before getting splurted in the face with an oily mess that smells NOTHING like the vaguely pleasant ‘skunk smell.’ Instead, if you ever wondered, it smells like a mix between burning rubber, oil and the stankoniest fart from an old man in the shoe department of Filene’s. And, P.S., Cappy was inside asleep on the couch throughout the entire episode.

Anyway, I digress. In Cappy’s ideal world, his demigodliness does not involve a vet trip, but there are times I am there to serve whether he likes it or not.

Let me preface this by saying that my hearing is…something else. Depending on who you talk to, I am either going deaf or have supersonic hearing. The cat meows and I think it’s the phone. Adam shakes out the pillows in the bedroom to fluff them at night, I immediately ask him where he’s going. So, when a yelping/meowing/howling sound passed through the living room the other night, of COURSE I thought little Cappy was in serious pain and in need of my immediate assistance. A quick rewind on the TiVo revealed it was a screaming child in the stands at the Red Sox game. So, on Thursday afternoon, you can imagine my reaction when Adam discovered what we can only guess were two small pee spots on the floor of the sunporch. GOD ALMIGHTY, it could be a UTI! A BLOCKAGE! I had visions of my poor little baby straining to pee all over the house, trying to find somewhere that he could pee where it didn’t hurt.

I looked forward to the vet trip with the same outlook one brings to a public stoning. Our history is not good. We’ve been through three vets in as many years – the first one ripped him out of the carrier with such force that she took off the top of the box, and was heading towards him with her stethoscope, when I made the executive decision to pack it up and get the hell out of Dodge. The second vet lasted a bit longer – she was nice, probably my age, but didn’t seem particularly pleased with having a cat in her office instead of a dog. The world is full of dog people, I tell you, and while I love dogs – I really do! – I’m perplexed by those who don’t like cats. Especially vets. I mean, they deal with horses, pigs, ferrets and cattle and a vet doesn’t like CATS?

Cappy was apparently equally perplexed and dismayed, for he threw the World’s Biggest Hissy Fit in her office. Screamed like a banshee. Bared his claws, swiping in every direction and attempting to bite anything and everything in his wake. Falconer’s gloves were procured and used with caution. Yes, falconer’s gloves. And a leather bib. I sat in the waiting room, tears streaming down my face as one of the patrons waiting with his dog looked at me excitedly and asked, “Hey lady, whatcha got in there? Is that a mountain lion?”

So you can imagine my excitement at the prospect of another vet visit. We’ve since found another vet who treats him with worldly respect, but he was still Not Pleased to be there, to say the least.

Until now. Oh my God, until now. He didn’t want to leave. Who was this cat? And, more importantly, who was this vet? She let him sniff her all over – including her pen – before she even went NEAR him with an instrument, much less tried to shove her fingers in his ass, as the last vet was wont to do within three minutes. I mean, would YOU let some stranger shove their fingers in your ass within the first two minutes of meeting them?

She let him stick his whole head in the catnip jar and roll around in it, even though other cats have to use it (He refused to be satisfied with his little sprinkle – it was all or a hissy fit, for the Snapper. I should take a lesson).

He’s perfect.

*As an aside, he’s fine. Urine sample checked out A-OK! I suspect the pee stains were nothing more than a spilled glass of water, most likely perpetrated by me.

11 comments June 14th, 2005