Yesterday the score was
This morning, Mom went out. When she came back, she had this:A bigger PTU (Prisoner Transport Unit). So big, in fact, it is for woofies! Mom thought the wire top and door and more openings on the side would induce me to go into the box more willingly.
In her mind, the score was now like this:
However. Do you see me in this new PTU?
Of course not!
But later Mom and I got into an argument. She bribed me with stinky goodness. She bribed me with treats. She chased me around the house. She moved furniture. I was NOT going into that PTU.
She begged. She pleaded.
I resisted. I howled.
She got her leather gloves.
I hissed. I scratched.
In the end, we were both worn out, and I ended up in the original PTU.
Mom was shaking.
I was panting.
We went for a ride in the new metal masheen. We went to the v-e-t.
I'm not stupid, I knew what was coming. I wasn't getting out of that box even if the door was open.
I was unceremoniously dumped OUT of the PTU onto a steel table.
A very nice, very gently lady v-e-t petted me, and told me how pretty I was. (I get a point for that.) She looked at my teeths. (I get another point for that.) She poked my tummy and I was very nice. I didn't growl or scratch or fight. (I get another point for that.). I think I got stabbed. (I deserve two points for that.) She carefully trimmed my claws, stroking me all the time. Then she picked me up, and very gently carried me into another room and put me on a scale.
Dear cats! I actually lost weight! I am a very slender, svelte 10.3 pounds! The very nice lady v-e-t said I was PERFECT! (I get another point for that.) When she was finished, Mom brought the PTU over to the table and I hopped right in! (I get another point for that.)
The Very Nice Lady V-e-t said she added a note to my record that I did not like getting into the PTU and that any future appointments should be considered "flexible." Dunno what that means exactly, but it didn't sound bad. Sounds like a point for ME!
And beans think they are smarter than cats!