Except for my so called "hostile" demeanor at the V-E-T. First they tag me with "Cantankerous" (after the ribbon incident) and now "Hostile." They've apparently got a whole KATIE PROTOCOL to follow now when they know I'm coming in. I'm a regular celebrity.
My leg is still a little limpy, but it seems to be getting better now that I'm sipping my mo-phine cocktails.
The local (crackpot) V-E-T sent my xrays (the ones I made them really work for) to the University of Minnesota. One of their disc jockey's, I mean radiologists, looked at it and said I was perfect. Well actually they said there was nothing remarkable. They probably didn't realize it was MY xray. Because if I am ANYTHING, I am REMARKABLE.
Ok, this is not really me.
Showing you my real xray would be
like letting you see me naked.
They looked at my elbows, my feet, my legs and shoulders. They even looked at my heart and lungs. They said my heart was good.
HA! SEE Mister V-E-T!
I don't have a tiny, cold, crusty heart.
I am NOT the beast you make me out to be.
And they said my lungs were good. Well I could have told them that. I put them to VERY good use at the V-E-T on Saturday.
If you've been following me for the past few weeks, you may know that Gloman was recently using crutches. He's fine, don't worry, this is all about ME.
So being the empathetic cat that I am, I started to limp. Ever so slightly. Just to make Gloman feel better mind you. He was limping, so I started limping. I didn't want him to feel bad. So I did what I had to do because I'm so empathetic.
Next thing I know I'm being RIPPED from beneath my warm covers and STUFFED into my plaid carrier.
It was SATURDAY. Totally uncalled for. So I endure the torturous ride and end up at the V-E-T. Great. Just great.
Upon arrival at V-E-T
Long story short, I had a tiny little meltdown in the exam room and before I knew it there were two vet techs wearing those falcon handling gloves and one more yelling "LOOK OUT, you're going to get BIT!"
Then one says, "yeah, I read about Katie in her file. She REALLY doesn't like coming here."
I'm thinking, "NO SH!T, Sherlock. How did you figure THAT out?"
So they took an x-ray (I made them work for it,) I peed all over them and they sent me packing with some kitty mo-phine.
I guess they're sending my x-ray to the University of Minnesota so some people who actually KNOW what they are doing can decide if there is anything wrong with my leg.
My blogging friends have touched my little cat heart. After yesterday's post, many of you remarked at my beauty. That last photo montage of beauty shots must have really done it for you. So I'm thinking of becoming a supermodel. I'm a cat, so I've definitely got the ego thing covered.
First up, I'm going to need a headshot.
Next, I'll need an agent.
All the good ones wear huge glasses.
Representation will be critical when all the magazine cover offers start pouring in. I'll need to assemble my "people." You know...make up artists, hair stylists, nail technicians, massage therapists, fitness trainers, my personal chef... When I mew, I want salmon, STAT.
Get ready for Cosmo Cat.
Glogirly can carry me around in my Louis Vuitton on one arm
and fend off the pawparazzi with the other.
Note to self: Check on the availability the Louis Vuitton traveler's litter box. I'd hate to be seen with some horrible Rubbermaid thing.