How to Give a Pill to a Cat, Part A
Anybody who has a cat can sympathesize with my dilemma. Evelyn is by my definition, the smartest cat there is. She certainly proved that the day the vet announced that I had to give her a pill twice a week. The score so far: CAT 5, Humans 0.
I have tried many techniques to get the pill into this clever girl. I tried the vet's method. "Just pull her head back by the scruff of the neck and when she opens her mouth, pop the pill in." Ok, maybe in your world, pal. I warn everybody who tries this. There will be consequences. Namely, the little wretch bit the pogees outta my finger and spit the pill into the next room. By the time I staunched the blood and found the pill, I couldn't find the cat because she was hiding behind the bottle(s)of Canadian Mist on the side board. It was just dumb luck that I spotted her when I went to take a large gulp of courage before tackling the problem again.
Plan B. I bring in reinforcements (Number One Daughter) to hold the cat down, while I use the blunt end of a table knife to pry her mouth open. Ah ha! No more bloddy fingers. But I forgot to take into consideration the claws on the beast. She shredded only one of my daughter's arms before launching into the air, doing a complete 180 degree turn, landing on the dining room table and leaping 20 feet into the spare bedroom.
After washing and dressing the wounds so nobly recieved, we go for round three. This time, with towel in hand, we go in seach of the cat. We had to move six boxes left over from the last move and a nine drawer dresser to get to her, but she is retrieved. It takes both of us fourteen minutes to wrap her securely in the towel, and only my left cheek and my daughter's right knee were damaged in this round. Somebody please ring the bell! My daughter attempts to open her mouth with fingers and I shove the pill inside.
The cat is haughty and indignant and with an attitude and flick of her kitty tail, she wanders into the kitchen... where she spits the pill onto the floor. Then she looks up at me and smiles. "Don't you smile at me, you clever little monster. I may never feed you again!"
So now, my daughter and I have gotten out a pencil, a notebook, an algebra book, Einstein's Law of Physics, a pound a cat nip, and a newly opened bottle of Canadian Mist, so we can research Plan C. Never before has the most intricately planned CIA mission so carefully wrought.
I look over at Evelyn and I suspect she is planning, as well. Plan C had better be an excellent one, or Number One Daughter and I will probably loose a couple very important limbs immediately before the cat spits the pill onto the Oriental Carpet.
I have tried many techniques to get the pill into this clever girl. I tried the vet's method. "Just pull her head back by the scruff of the neck and when she opens her mouth, pop the pill in." Ok, maybe in your world, pal. I warn everybody who tries this. There will be consequences. Namely, the little wretch bit the pogees outta my finger and spit the pill into the next room. By the time I staunched the blood and found the pill, I couldn't find the cat because she was hiding behind the bottle(s)of Canadian Mist on the side board. It was just dumb luck that I spotted her when I went to take a large gulp of courage before tackling the problem again.
Plan B. I bring in reinforcements (Number One Daughter) to hold the cat down, while I use the blunt end of a table knife to pry her mouth open. Ah ha! No more bloddy fingers. But I forgot to take into consideration the claws on the beast. She shredded only one of my daughter's arms before launching into the air, doing a complete 180 degree turn, landing on the dining room table and leaping 20 feet into the spare bedroom.
After washing and dressing the wounds so nobly recieved, we go for round three. This time, with towel in hand, we go in seach of the cat. We had to move six boxes left over from the last move and a nine drawer dresser to get to her, but she is retrieved. It takes both of us fourteen minutes to wrap her securely in the towel, and only my left cheek and my daughter's right knee were damaged in this round. Somebody please ring the bell! My daughter attempts to open her mouth with fingers and I shove the pill inside.
The cat is haughty and indignant and with an attitude and flick of her kitty tail, she wanders into the kitchen... where she spits the pill onto the floor. Then she looks up at me and smiles. "Don't you smile at me, you clever little monster. I may never feed you again!"
So now, my daughter and I have gotten out a pencil, a notebook, an algebra book, Einstein's Law of Physics, a pound a cat nip, and a newly opened bottle of Canadian Mist, so we can research Plan C. Never before has the most intricately planned CIA mission so carefully wrought.
I look over at Evelyn and I suspect she is planning, as well. Plan C had better be an excellent one, or Number One Daughter and I will probably loose a couple very important limbs immediately before the cat spits the pill onto the Oriental Carpet.
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