SassyBlonde

Today, folks, has been a busy day at Chez Sassy. D was off today (yay private school) and we spent the day cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. Of course, this was after I got up and took The Spaz to the vet for his yearly checkup. (Don't worry, he's right as rain.)

D and I practically had to do rock-paper-scissors for the honors. The bad thing about taking this cat out for his checkup is that from the moment you get him in the carrier (which is no picnic in the first place) he starts to yowl and yammer and carry on like you've hung him up by his ears. You'd think that would be livable, except it takes 25 minutes to get to the vet's and a loud cat in a small car is a truly remarkable thing. Therefore, what normally ends up happening is that it's a conversation all the way there. He yowls and I talk and at some point along the way my utterances go from normal conversation to baby-talk to wordless cat-speak approximations until he either settles down or we get there.

Well, today was no exception. Same old song and dance, only his protests were about 25 percent louder and more insistent and my patience was about 200 percent shorter. The baby-talk ensued before we had even left the driveway and he had worked himself into a real lather by the time we turned out onto Georgia Avenue, so I kept one hand on the wheel and stuck my right index finger through the carrier door cage to scratch his ears while we chatted. This, of course, made absolutely no difference in his howling, but then I felt him start to paw my finger, so I wiggled it a bit to capture his attention, thinking maybe he'd get distracted and chill out a little.

All of a sudden I felt his little paw wrap itself around my finger, latching onto my fingertip with half-extended claws. Not wanting to have my fingertip shredded, I kept it still as I drove and sort of held my breath waiting for him it really let the claws out, but he didn't. Instead, he kept gripping my finger but was strangely quiet, so at the next stoplight I peered over to see him looking back up at me, still clutching my finger. I wiggled it a little and he readjusted his grip with a little mewph but kept holding on and looking up at me. And was quiet the whole rest of the way to the vet's as he gripped my finger. It just goes to show, I guess, that everybody needs a friend to hold their hand sometimes, even spastic cats.