One day I feel strong and intimidating, ready to take on the world and you and all the other animals who dare to come near me or disturb my nap, like Samson with my long, enviable, gloriously patterned and striped with black on tan colored thick hair. Matted and gnarled as it was, it didn’t bother me none.
And then the next day, I am stripped of my dignity, my shining, crowning achievement of fur, feeling a little less like the alluring Delilah and more like a fat rat with a misshapen tummy.
I should have known something was up when I wasn’t fed my usual before daybreak meal. But then again, no one was given breakfast yet so I thought maybe it was just the weekend.
Eventually, I was lured into the pantry, the door closed so it was just me in there and some strange, muddy, rubbery, brown speck (learned later it was a pill pocket) as the only thing placed on a dish before me. That had me suspicious and seeing red flags! I acted like I wasn’t interested to see if I could get a better meal. No gummy, chewy and foreign dot for me, no thank you. I meowed and asked for better.
I heard a can pop, my favorite chicken feast aroma wafted from the source right by my nose and I felt like everything is going to be okay now.
But the smelly, dirt colored pebble was placed under my tasty food and I spit it out from the side of my mouth, some hot pink blob (the pill, I now know) fell out and it was shoved back into my mouth. And this went on three more times or so until I had no other choice to finally swallow it when my head and throat were held back and I had to take another breath because I was meowing and complaining and desperate to avoid it at all costs. I washed it down with my delicious regular breakfast and just forgot about it. What a way to start the day, but hey, after that, I just wandered over to a light blue blanket placed strategically by a window, curled up and sank into the day’s business of napping. About an hour and a half later, I tried to get up to stretch and follow the sun and move to another spot but I couldn’t really move very well. I was weak and I felt a little buzzed or lightheaded.
Before me was the dreaded pet carrier with the door opened. I tried to run up the stairs but I was slow and a bath towel was thrown over me. I was wrapped in terry cloth as I clenched and dug my nails into the carpet. I held on but my paws were being lifted one by one and I fought some more, inserting my claws in deeper, again being forced to retreat. My displeasure grew and I tried to scramble, only I got tangled up in the towel, everything went dark as it became a hooded nightmare. I tried to resist. I screamed and I grabbed and lashed out but I was helplessly drugged and I ended up in the kitty jail with one huge last powerful push. The iron barred door shut and clanged in my pretty striped face.
From there, my cries were met with unwanted and an unlimited amount of petty reassurances I didn’t believe in.
I was whisked away, finally landing at the vile dungeon they call the Cat Care Clinic. I hate being toyed with.
I was left there for hours where I was treated abominably by strangers that had the audacity to speak to me sweetly, all the while investigating my every body part and crevice. They gave me something else to sedate me, insisting I was nervous. Then, they shaved me like a stupid lion. Is there anything else more disrespectful or impertinent than getting a style cut you hated? I would have scratched their eyes out if I could have lifted my heavy paws. I was afraid, yes, but even more so, I was insulted by the vulgar and offensive feline fashion slur as if all of the species were the same or it was cute on me somehow. How dare they?
How was I going to terrorize the male cats in the house hold now? How could I get away with growling under my breath and acting mean now? I looked ridiculous.
I awoke in my jail cell with shorter nails, hardly any hair left except a pouf at the end of my long gray tail, some tufts by my feet like boots and thankfully, they left my gorgeous face alone. What an ordeal!
Miraculously I ended back at home and was released. When the prison door was unlocked, I slumped out, cautiously stepping one paw at a time, as I was still loopy and dizzy. The two male cats basically ignored me. I had no hold on them now. That new canine arrival they call Cindi who they treat like a princess sniffed me immediately and kept coming back to make sure it was still me.
I wasn’t hungry till much later and after the indignities I suffered, I am finally settling back into the “new normal” until my hair grows back out and I can growl, snarl and intimidate everyone around me again like old times and show them who is really the ‘queen’ of this jungle.