My folks would always start worrying about a week or two before I'm scheduled to go for my annual check-up. You see, I'd had a very traumatic experience with the vet a few years ago, when I had a "urinary tract infection" , or some such. I won't go in to detail, but suffice to say, ever since then I have been absolutely terrified of these particular humans. My own humans had good reason to worry about how to get me into the box, and to the "torture chamber".

They would first try getting out my fancy "Pet Taxi" a few days before the scheduled visit, hoping that by the time of the appointment, I'd meekly crawl in it and say "Let's go!". Well, in the first place, I never could stand that particular vehicle, which I'd inherited from my saintly predeccesor, the beloved "lap kitty" Keebie Weebie. So, after I refused this mode of transport, they thought they would trick me.

Knowing my love of boxes (I can't resist hopping into them), they purchased one of those cardboard contraptions with handles. Yeah, I took the bait! I loved to play in that box! And on the morning of my vet appointment, after much worrying, my meowmie couldn't believe that I was sitting contentedly in the box ten minutes prior to leaving for the appointment. She thought she had it made. And I have to admit, she would have gotten me there, except for one small snag. When she picked up the box, the bottom fell out! Well, hehe, I laugh now, but at the time it did give me quite a scare! I ran under the bed and hid, and after three or four more attempts to get me back into the box, she gave up.

My visits were then rescheduled a few times, but I never would let them get me in that box again! My dad doesn't have as much patience as my meowmie. When, on HIS final attempt, I crashed out of the box and ripped it to shreds, and bit and scratched him in the process, both humans threw in the towel! I was in dad's "d*ghouse" for awhile, but meowmie just said "Oh, the little guy just doesn't want to go to the vet. Poor baby". For her understanding, I put on my rare "lap kitty love bug" routine, to show my appreciation. Afterall, it was Dad's fault that the bottom fell out of the box in the first place! Seems he forgot to put the reinforcing cardboard in the bottom:) To get to the point, I haven't been back to the vet since.

I might have won the battle, but the humans won the war. I now have a "Mobile" Pet Vet that makes house calls. I don't cooperate with her either! This obnoxious person paid a visit yesterday. The human had me locked up in the kitchen, but when the V*t lady came I made an escape and bolted upstairs, only to find all the doors closed tight! I had nowhere to hide! I panicked, and ran back downstairs, cowering under a chair. On hindsight, hiding under the couch would have been the sensible thing to do! My human simply tipped the chair over, and the V*T grabbed me! It was all over then! I had to admit defeat and submit myself to the torture!

I still haven't recovered from my trauma. I don't know what's in those shots, but I've done nothing but sleep since.

So you see, sometimes the humans do outsmart us! But at least I don't have to endure that terrifying car ride to the V*T office and back! Not to mention all those horrible D*GS lounging around in the waiting room growling and barking!