Cat in carrier, the one with the jail-like bars over the door, on the way to vet.
MJ the Cat: meowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeow
Translation: I'm being repressed! This is an outrage! I will poop in your shoes as soon as we get home! How dare you confine me in such a way! I have PETA on speed dial!
Once at the vet MJ goes silent.
What he says: nothing.
Translation: Hey, I'm kinda liking this little cottage. The wire door is adorable. Just gonna cozy up back in the corner here. You can't see me if I can't see you, right? No need for me to get out. Forget what I was saying before.
It takes two humans to extract one cat out of the now comfortable abode.
Lesson learned: None. It happens all over again, verbatum, on a subsequent trip to the vet three days later.
Don't get me started on what it took to adminster his medicine. Scarring (mine) was the result.
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Adulthood: Not quite what I had in mind
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