As I mentioned in my last post, Obi has been with us for almost a year. His annual check up was on Friday and went as well as can be expected. He cried a lot on the way there. I can’t decide if it is the carrier, the car or the “going” that he doesn’t like. His crying much less on the way home makes me wonder if it isn’t the “going” part – after all, a majority of his trips in the carrier have had bad endings.
We had the new doctor; she’ll be okay eventually. She was relatively nice to Obi (but no ooohing and aaaaahing…Oliver would NOT find this acceptable) as she poked and prodded him. She brought the scale in with her – which I like because it means no alone time in the exam room – and he hopped right on. He weighs 11.5 pounds. Perfect.
Of course the visit ends with three shots. Obi has never disliked anyone in his life but by the third shot he gave her a look to indicate he was considering an exception. Then she insisted on giving me a talk and a brochure about urinary tract infections and how dangerous they are in male cats. I tried to explain to her that I’ve had cats every day of my life. And I know the signs of an infection. I raised an eyebrow at her and, too, considered making her an exception. But, like I say, she’s new and once she mellows out we’ll probably like her just fine.
Waiting to check out, I saw the monthly magazine from the animal shelter and flipped to the center spread to show the nurses that Obi is a celebrity. This is the third time he has been pictured in an animal shelter publication. The nurses are well trained and ooohed and aaaahed. One even suggested we carry around a stamp pad so he can autograph his pictures. Obi’s only contribution to this silliness was to sulk in his carrier with a pout that said, “celebrities don’t get rabies. I don’t need shots.”
Last month a friend of mine emailed on behalf of the animal shelter to see if I was planning to donate for the Fur Ball, an annual fundraiser. I told her that I had to; the shelter’s publications were vital to building Obi’s modeling portfolio. I finished up the necklace Friday morning to turn in for Saturday’s event. I think it turned out well:
The clasp is the fish, which fits through a slot in the kitty's hand.
Obi, of course, is very helpful when it comes to photographing jewelry. Especially when you’re in a hurry and try to take the picture on his bed.
"This cat is horrible; look how skinny his tail is!"
Back to the great vet visit. As I said, Obi cried a lot less on the way home. I’m really relieved that he isn’t always going to cry like he did last year. I’d only had him for about a week when he went in to get declawed. Oliver had just decided to like him. When we woke up, I put Obi in the carrier so Oli could eat – but Oli stood outside the carrier and wailed. Obi was inside in a panic. In the most horrific twist ever, his panicked wails sound like “Mama mama mama!” So all the way to the vet he cried “Mama! Mama! Mamaaa!”
And Oli was TICKED when I came home without his brother. It was a long 24 hours. This year, Oliver was equally unhappy with me forcing his brother in the carrier and taking him away. Luckily I got to bring him back half an hour later.
As soon as I let Obi out of the carrier, Oliver was all over him trying to sniff and make sure he was okay. Obi wanted nothing of it and tried to walk away. They walked two laps around the house before Oliver just shoved Obi to the ground and sat on him to keep him still. “Fine,” Obi sighed. “You pick on me too.”
Then he got kisses. But I’m pretty sure brother kisses make it all better.
And by Saturday, The Girl got to give him make-it-better kisses as well.