Secret Agent, Hell Cat (Fred the Cat’s Dark Side)
Fred the Cat, here. Okay, this is just between us. You know that while the Pops were away I was stationed at the veterinarian’s office. They put me in a nice roomy enclosure and took great care of me.
Here’s the inside scoop on what happened there. I’m usually a mild mannered sort of cat. I don’t give the Pops a hard time…..most of the time. But when I go to the vet I become Secret Agent Hell Cat. If you recall, my first experience at the vet’s office resulted in some physical changes for me. I have to protect what’s left. So if anyone puts their hand into my space they risk pulling back a bloody appendage. Man, I scare the hell out of them. I growl and I spit at them as they pass by. My message to them is, don’t mess with Fred, the cat from hell.
When Mr. Pop came to retrieve me after they came back home, the employees at the vet’s office debated which of them would come to my cage and transfer me to my travel carrier. Ha! Not one of them wanted to do it. I had them scared, big time.
Mr. Pop just laughed at them because he’s never seen this side of my secret bad-assed personality. He said, “ I’ll go get him.” They all trotted along behind Mr. Pop as he approached my cage, unlocked the door and reached inside. Of course, as I saw them approaching, I quickly switched back to my kinder gentler self and allowed Mr. Pop to pick me up without a whimper or a single protruding claw. The office staff was aghast, as they peeked around Mr. Pop. They had expected significant carnage.
So, as far as the Pops know, I am a sweet and loving cat, but as the employees of the veterinarian’s office will attest, I can be bad. The kind of bad that no one in his right mind wants to encounter. In my line of work it’s important to be able to switch personalities on a moments notice, especially when dealing with the evil doers at the vet’s office.
Panzon, a cat belonging to Msliberty, asked me last weekend how to handle living with canines. Here’s how I handle living with Murphy, the bichon. His breed alone should tell you all you need to know. He’s French. I keep him in line by running past him at regular intervals and swatting him on the butt as I run by. He learned early on not to mess with me. He claims that he has a pedigree. I say, Hell I had ticks once, get over yourself.
All of you cats out there feel free to ask for my advise, I’ll be happy to help if I can.
Fred the Cat
Pop and I wish everyone a great weekend.