The kids and I got to take Spike to the vet this morning for her annual check up. It's always such a fun trip! Getting two kids into coats, hats and mittens is the easy part. Tricking the cat into coming out of hiding, so that I can grab her and throw her into the carrying cage, that's always the challenge.
Amazingly, we were only four minutes late, and the majority of the delay came in the parking lot, trying to safely transport two children and a grumpy cat across the slippery pavement, past a 4-pound Yorkie on the sidewalk and finally inside. Out of the mouths of babes, AJ had to stop on the sidewalk and ask the Yorkie's owner if it was a cat.
Spike yowled pretty much the entire 20+ minute ride to the vet. AJ tried consoling her by promising, "It's okay, Spike. You can get out once we get to the vet." I'm guessing that didn't do much to make Spike feel any better.
Small world that it is, (and further emphasizing my initial sentence) the vet's assistant is a friend of one of my old roommates. Her comment was, "I can't believe Spike is still alive!"
Spike is now almost 15 and a half, and appears to be as healthy and quirky as ever. She started purring as soon as I set her on the exam table. She certainly didn't want to be up there, but she purred anyway. The problem with this is that the vet can't hear her heartbeat over the sound of her purrs. So they tried tapping her nose. And still she purred. They blew in her face. Purrrrr. They gave her a rabies shot. The purring continued. Finally they turned on the faucet and carried Spike toward the running water. This near-terroristic threat finally did the trick, stopping the purring just long enough for the vet to detect a "possible slight murmur," but nothing serious.
That's because Spike is going to live forever.
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