The humans crossed a line this week. They took advantage of my sweet, trusting, innocent nature to once again drive me to the vet, only this time, they LEFT ME THERE.
I was confused when the lady brought me into the backroom. Curious, because there were other animals and a bunch of interesting, scary gadgets, but very confused. Where were my people? They usually stay in the examination room with me, but they had handed me over, carrier and all. They were gone.
Then I was forced to sleep. Google tells me this is called anesthesia. Let me tell you, when I woke up, I had no idea what was going on. There was a tube sticking out of me, so I did the natural thing: I tried to eat it. The vet had to hold a patch to my skin in order to stop the bleeding. It was then that I realized what they had done… They shaved my beautiful fur!
My gorgeous, lustrous coat is ruined. There is a patch missing on my leg. I look like some second-rate, back-alley vagabond. Handsome, sure, the kind of stray you want to feed and pet, but still rough and patchy. The Internet assures me it will grow back, but I am worried.
My fangs tasted weird, too; I think they cleaned them. They gave me a tiny bit of food, and I realized, by my stomach clock, that we were well into the afternoon. I never had breakfast. It was one of the worst days of my life.
Eventually, the humans returned. I was still groggy from the drugs, and too happy to know I was going back home to be angry with them. But it was a horrendous ordeal nevertheless, made all the worse because they would only give me small amounts of food for the rest of the day.
I lived to tell the tale. It brought back memories of my life in the shelters, before the mama and the bearded one brought me home. I do not miss those at all, and I now understand why humans hate hospitals so much. We all just want to be home, with fur unshaven.