I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s something about having Welsh rugby on television that enduces relaxed malleability in my cats.
They watched the game against Ireland with me this morning, unfazed by my cheers and occasional singing, Lily lying the length of my thighs like a portly furred slug – head forwards for the best view – and Leo, by some miraculous chance, voluntarily reclining in the cat box!
It’s the first time either of them has any spent time in the cat box, which has been on the living room floor sans portcullis for the last week. I have seen Lily stick her head in, and on occasion walk in but very rapidly withdraw, lest her exit suddenly be blocked. She’s not stupid.
So Leo was already in there when, breakfasted and still joyous from the rugby result, I picked Lily up and decorously stuffed her in there too. There was a muted surprise but no vocal objection before or during the half hour trip to the vet.
They both remained chilled in their box on the floor of the vets listening with some interest to the squeaks and high-pitched whines of the other impatients in the waiting room- a black miniature fox-terrier cross with sparkly white lower teeth, a hyperactive, fussy quite-frankly irritating dandie dinmont cross and a sweet and silent miniature schnauzer.
I was expecting big wide eyes, desperate appealing looks and possibly some yowling from the box but nope, they lay listening with some interest. They are probably more used to dogs than I give them credit for, as I think they spend some time relaxing high up in next-door’s vine-covered gazebo taunting Millie, their springer spaniel. I hear occasional outbreaks of leaping and yelping followed by shouts of “Shut up Millie!” from indoors and I wonder if my cats are ganging up to get Millie into trouble…
The only thing that scared them at the vets was when the woman with the fox terrier accidentally allowed it to make a successful lunge for the cat box. The thud of wet nose against cat box resulted in Leo and Lily instantly squishing themselves defensively at the opposite end of the box. She did apologise but it’s still irksome when people fail to be “in charge” of their dogs.
It’s very odd, the effect the vet has on the cats. Last time I thought it was just because they were kittens but it’s actually a mysterious feline hypnosis. They are both completely calm with him. He picked Leo out of the box and examined him. Leo purred – a stethoscope is as good as a tummy tickle to that boy. Leo was allowed to walk around the surgery exploring while the vet took a look at Lily and examined the claws on her multiple toes. Nothing to worry about, he said, but I should keep an eye on them in case they grow too long.
Although he agreed Lily is a little chubber, he didn’t think she was grossly fat and he didn’t think Leo was too skinny, pronouncing him “a fine, well-muscled cat.” I like my vet. He’s Welsh and has a cat called Kenneth who he adores.
So, freshly boostered, L&L have a clean bill of health.
As far as cat-boxing bouts go, I’m 2 – 0 up and thankfully the re-match isn’t due for another year. Whew!
Leo, voluntarily enjoying the limited comforts of the cat box