Steve

Now that Steve was safely secured in her carrier (I had terrible visions of the carrier falling open and my beloved furball running away and never returning), it was time for her vaccination. I drove her to the vet and proceeded to fill out the papers at the front desk. The first line asked for "species." Oh right. Cat. Next was "breed." I considered penciling in Norwegian Forester, which is the breed my husband and I believe Steve is, but decided against it since its just a guess and it would be embarrassing for the desk lady to ask questions about it. So instead I wrote ? which is reasonable since nobody really knows what breed their cat is. In fact, I don't even think I knew there were true cat breeds until I stumbled upon Cats 101 on Animal Planet.

Anyway, then they asked for "name." Okay, this is always slightly embarrassing because Steve is a girl. My mom thinks its cruel to name animals gender-confusing names, but this name really fits our cat. I mean, she is just a goofy cat in every way so she really fits this goofy name. Plus, it was already there when we adopted her and I think its more cruel to change a pet's name when they are already used to one name. To avoid confusion though, I wrote in Stevie. That could be a girl's name, right? I also marked female underneath and decided that this would help. I handed the papers to the desk lady and waited. I was really hoping they would come take Steve from me and let me wait in the waiting room instead of go in, but I had no such luck. The lady told me they needed Steve's weight.

Okay, seriously? It took me 3 hours to get this cat into the carrier and now I have to take her out, put her on a scale (which of course she will sit on obediently), and then put her back in the carrier only to take her out again for her shot? Great. I opened the carrier, waiting for psycho cat to fly out, but instead she wouldn't budge. I pull her out (which actually wasn't too difficult) and try to get her to stand on the scale. The lady says, "Oh what a handsome boy! Stevie's a diluted calico!" Owning this cat is what I imagine having a baby is like when they are first born. Nobody knows what gender your baby is at first unless you dress him/her accordingly with pink bows or blue football onesies. Should I have put a pink bow on Steve's head? I didn't even correct the lady. He was handsome.

So weighing Steve took at least 3 tries. 10.2 pounds. It's gotta be all that fur. Then she told me to take Stevie into the little room next door and wait for the doctor. "By the way, don't let him on the ground because it could be dirty." Ummmm ....

The thought of trying to put Steve back into the carrier was enough for me to think I could hold Steve while waiting for the doctor. It doesn't matter that my super friendly and cuddly cat absolutely hates being held ... I'm sure at this moment, she will nestle into my arms comfortably. Unfortunately, I spent the next 10 minutes wrestling with a deeply terrified cat. My arms were covered in scratches, there were tufts of fur flying around this small room, and I was afraid if I let her touch the ground, the vet would yell at me for contaminating my pet.

Finally, at my wits end, I decided to shove her back in her carrier, which she actually went into easily. Right then, the vet came in and told me to get her out. Well she wasn't coming out. The vet just stood there as I tried to coax her out gently like a good owner, and finally offered to take the top off the carrier. Evidently, tops on carriers are quite easy to remove which may have helped me 3 and a half hours ago. We took the top off, Steve got her his shot, and we were on our way home.

Moral of this story: get a dog