Sunday, November 2

Did She Eat This Morning?

[Third in a series]

In the ensuing days after my new roommate moved in, I was careful to not let on that there was a cat in my apartment. After all, there was that no pets clause in my apartment lease.

After seeing her on the window sill one evening after getting home, I moved my bed away from the window so as to not allow her access. And for the foreseeable future, always kept the mini-blinds closed. The sill wasn't terribly wide, but as cats will do, she was quite agile enough to land gracefully on the sill from the floor.

The front door was another problem. Coming home during the day at one point, she wasn't in the front room, but after a short inspection tour later, found her sleeping peacefully on the bed. But always wary of her darting for the door.

It was a couple of weeks later that I figured I should make sure she was healthy enough to hang around; after all, she had been living on the "streets" and there was no telling what she might be "carrying". So an appointment was made at a local pet clinic in a strip mall far enough away from my apartment to make sure I didn't run into any neighbors.

The day came and came the inevitable question of just how you ferry something you're not supposed to have out and back in?

"Bankers Boxes" became my makeshift pet carriers, but not before putting a towel in the bottom.

The vet I took her to was an older gent who ran the little clinic by himself - no staff, and, as it turned out, not much experience in animal husbandry. After the necessary inoculations for her species, and during the poking and prodding phase of the examination, he asked if she had eaten that morning. A guess that she had in fact eaten that day I said yes.

"She seems to be really full."

Of what, would become apparent in 57-69 days.

Never went back to that vet.

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