The Furry Chaos Creature in the Vet's Office
So about two years ago, I had taken my cat, Mittens, for a routine check-up at our local vet. Just to paint the picture for you, Mittens was an absolute beast — a Maine Coon with all the regality of a lion, and the temperament of a four-year-old high on sugar. Now, I say was because that was pre-vet visit Mittens. Post-vet visit Mittens was... a different being.
On arrival, Mittens loudly announced his displeasure at being in this sterile hellhole. Every dog in the room stared at him with mixed expressions of fear and admiration. The receptionist just gave us a knowing smile and directed us to a waiting area filled with an assortment of cats, dogs, parrots, turtles, and a scaly thing in a tank peering out the glass with very judgmental eyes.
As we were waiting, a hyperactive Jack Russell pup dashed by and chased its tail near Mittens’ carrier. I could see my cat developing a twitch in his eye, but nothing major happened. You could say he was clinging on to that semblance of dignity he had left.
And then, it happened. A teen rolled in with a gargantuan Saint Bernard — a drooling behemoth that made everything else in the room look like bite-sized party snacks. The Saint Bernard was a friendly beast, overly enthusiastic to greet each of his fellow patients. When he lumbered over to Mittens, things went sideways — literally. Mittens, in his terror, somehow unleashed his inner cheetah. His carrier, being mounted on wheels for big boys, bolted through the waiting room like a demented soapbox derby contestant. The Saint Bernard, thinking this was a game, excitedly pursued the black-and-white blur around the room.
Amidst the total chaos, Mittens managed to crash into the receptionist's desk, sending stacks of paperwork flying everywhere. The entire room froze. Our majestic feline warrior emerged from the toppled carrier, fluff expanded to full size, with the crazed eyes of a battle-hardened demon. The room was dead silent, apart from the Saint Bernard who had decided that between the flying papers and a disdainful cat intent on making his 9 lives count, the paper was the safer choice to chase.
The aftermath was a shattered reception area, a distracted dog happy with his paper pile, a receptionist mildly suffering from shock, and Mittens perched victoriously atop his toppled carrier, daring anyone to move. After apologies, a hefty repair bill, and many, many assurances that Mittens, indeed, is a "good boy", we got him checked and left.
Nowadays, Mittens has an uneasy truce with the vet who has, for some reason, designed a much sturdier and more secure carrier for him. One without wheels. Meanwhile, the Saint Bernard reportedly still enjoys chasing papers around. As for me? I've moved onto drinking tea. Why? A cup helps me forget this trauma as I get ready for Mittens' next check-up in a week's time.