I hear the plastic carrier being brought in from the garage.
Oh no. It could only mean two things – it’s to the hated groomer or to that dreaded Vet. I panic and attempt to make my escape, but Mom is too fast for me as she quickly scoops my furry 16-pound body. I hiss and thrash all fours as she runs to the carrier.
But wait. This time, I have a new tactic in mind. Seconds before we reach the carrier, I throw my front legs up and suction my front paws against the carrier opening. Ha. It’s working because she’s cursing. She calls for my Dad. “Hon, come here quick. I can’t get him into the damn carrier and we’re LATE. Dr. Jenkins is expecting him in 10 minutes.”
I meowed and cried all the way to the Vet.
