This is Janis, our daughter's cat. Lest you accuse me of animal cruelty, she loves the mailbox. Although the mailman has never asked why we have cat hair in our mailbox, he must wonder.
Besides the mailbox, Janis also adores empty beer boxes and suitcases. The only small space of which she is less than enamored is the dreaded "Cat Taxi," in which she must be confined in order to visit the veterinarian.
That is what we did this morning, promptly at 8:15 a.m. I was serenaded for the entire drive. I believe the tune was "LET ME THE F OUT OF THIS CAT TAXI," a catchy number I've heard before.
The vet gave us a diagnosis and prescribed a twice-daily pill. That made me a little nervous, since I haven't had to give a cat a pill in a long time. I asked if they could give her the first one so that I could watch. No problem, proclaimed the vet's assistant, who opened Janis' mouth and pushed in the pill. A millisecond later, there was a PFFT noise, and out flew the pill. We all three stared at it, on the counter, and burst into laughter. For her second attempt, the assistant opened Janis' jaw at a slightly different angle, and again, in went the pill. That seemed to work until Janis shook her head, worked her mouth, and (you guessed it) out came the pill. By this point, the pill is getting mooshy, the vet and I are about to wet ourselves laughing, and the assistant is getting a little annoyed. "Third time is a charm," she proclaimed, and went at it again. Janis attempted to make a break for the dreaded Cat Taxi but the jig was up. Pride was on the line and that pill went down.
Sure, it's funny now, but tonight Mr. L and I are on our own.