Feline Friends

My seven cats, though free to roam the great outdoors at will, are never far from the front porch.  Pretty much anywhere you look, you see at least several completely useless cats lounging around.  Favorite spots include the front steps, the rocking chairs and the large plant pots (whether or not said pots contain plants is irrelevant to my cats). The front porch boasts a line of five food bowls and a water trough and at feeding time, all seven cats can be found, arranged according to their established pecking order, meowing impatiently.  When we let the dogs out or when we go out for a walk or when we do yard work, seven curious cats trail close behind. It would be pretty much impossible to visit our house on any given day and not run into at least a handful of cats. 

On any given day, that is, that is NOT veterinarian day.

I don’t know how the cats know which day is their designated day for annual vaccinations, but they always do.  As if it weren’t bad enough hauling seven cats to the vet, the preamble to that fun activity — chasing down seven cats and wrestling them into their carriers — just adds insult to injury.

This time, I vowed to outsmart them.  My plan was to capture them at morning feeding time.  I cleverly left the carriers out of sight in the basement. When the cats lined up at their bowls for their morning meal, I would pick them up, one by one, disarming them with some petting and nice words, and then quickly whisk them into the house, trapping them in the downstairs bathroom.  Only when all cats were captured would I bring out those dreaded carriers.

Miraculously, the plan worked for the first six cats.  Unfortunately, by the time I had locked six cats up in the downstairs bathroom, the cacophony of howls coming from that room was so loud that not only did they scare away Cat #7, but I think they were also starting to scare the work crew building the house next door.

I suppose I could have cut my losses and brought Cat #7 to the vet another day, but there was a problem with that tempting solution.  Cat #7 looks exactly the same as Cats #5 and 6.  If I waited, it would be impossible to figure out which cat had lucked out the first time around.

About one hour, six scratches, and two phone calls to the vet delaying my appointment later, I had the elusive and now very angry Cat #7 trapped.  Victory!

Now to relocate my five carriers from Point A (the kitchen) to Point B (the GMC Yukon).  The cats were strategically placed (and I use the term “placed” loosely) into their carriers according to weight and temperament.  Only certain cats can be in such close proximity with certain others and, according to carrier weight limitations, the largest of the bunch would need to be in a carrier alone.  Still, these are sturdy, healthy cats weighing in at 14 to 16 pounds apiece.  I hoped my trainer would agree that my relocation efforts easily counted as my morning strength and conditioning workout. 

Driving the six miles to the veterinary office was a real treat.  No need for the radio or a CD for me.  No, I was entertained with ear-splitting wailing and caterwauling.  About a mile into the ride, I heard the most awful ruckus coming from one of the carriers in the very back of the vehicle.  Crashing, clanging, metal pieces grinding together.  I had secured the carriers pretty tightly so I couldn’t imagine what could be causing all the noise.

Another two miles of clanging later, I found out when my large gray male cat, Popcorn, surprised me by gently touching my arm with his paw.  A pet carrier escapee!  Popcorn spent the rest of the ride tormenting the other confined cats with his newfound freedom. 

His victory was short-lived, however, upon arrival at the vet’s office.  To prevent further problem from that one, the veterinary assistant promptly secured him with a dog collar and leash.  Humiliating for a cat who just moments before had free reign of the Yukon, but necessary, especially after seeing what Popcorn had done to his carrier.

I had wondered how he had managed to open the carrier door.  Upon inspection, I realized he had done nothing of the sort.  Why open the door when he could completely tear the carrier apart instead?  Literally.  It was in pieces.

Four hours later I returned to the vet’s office to retrieve my charges.  The overall tone among my feline friends was one of hatred and animosity.  That feeling did not subside during the return trip home or for the remainder of the day.  All cats went into hiding, and, for the first time, I experienced what it might be like to live in a cat-free home.

I didn’t like it.  The only time in my life I have lived without a cat was my four years in college, minus a few months when I harbored a large orange male named Sam in my dorm room.

They might be fat, lazy and uncooperative, but there’s something about those large lumps of fur that I would miss in their absence.  Plus, if only I can figure out a way to channel Popcorn’s obvious strength and determination into something useful, I think I’ll be on to something.