Cecelia Visits the Vet

Cecelia spends most of her days outside. She is happiest when she is in charge. That means do not go near her, look at her, speak to her or God forbid pet her, unless she is in the mood. Because if you do, hell, even if you don't, she will attack. Come to find out, it's really not her fault she is like this. She is part ferrel, part Siamese. I finally traced her linage after a particularly exciting trip to the vet.

Her first few trips to the vet were embarrassing. But I figured she would grow out of it. Instead, she has gotten worse. It has gone from embarrassing to almost deadly (for me, not her). She now has a reputation at the office and so do I. When I call for an appointment and the secretary asks "which animal?" and I say "Cecelia" there is a palpable vibe, I can feel it though the phone.

She is a tough little pussy cat. Yeah, I said it. Tiny, much smaller than the average cat. Most people think she is just a sweet,little kitten. But lurking beneath that beautiful face is a psychotic the likes of which the world has never seen. I am not kidding.

My dad suggested dropping her off at the farm up the road. My friends have suggested just putting her out of her misery. Even the vet is astounded that she doesn't even let me near her. No one understands what the benefit of this cat could be. And most days I don't either. As long as we stay out of her way and feed her, she leaves us alone. For the most part. When she is manic or depressed she attacks for no reason. Ya know, just walking by, she screams and swipes and then runs away. Almost as traumatic as Spencer farts.

The kids are justifiably afraid. I don't know how many times I have heard them crying at the top of the stairs because Cece was laying at the bottom and they were too scared to go by her. I would come to the rescue to find crying child, smiling cat. She doesn't just have a resentment against us, her family. She is an equal opportunity attack artist. Guests are not special in her book. Old, young, disabled, well bodied. She doesn't care. She is a hater.

One day, as I came down stairs,I passed by the family room. I glanced in to see my 6 year old sitting very quietly. I didn't think too much of it. As I walked back by on my way back up stairs, I see that Cece is sitting on her lap. So, as this is such a very rare occurrence, I go in with a smile, thinking that this is an enjoyable moment for all of us. No, my 6 year old has tears just streaming down her cheeks and she looks at me and whispers "Please...get her off". Cece looks up at me, purring and smiling with her tongue out. Lord, she has taken my 6 year old hostage!! And she has NO demands!!

Cecelia is master of her world. She is an outdoor cat. She takes vacations when she wants. She answers to no one. Independent, mentally ill, not a whole lot of fun, but so very pretty to look at (as long as she doesn't catch you looking). I am not sure what lesson I am teaching the kids by keeping her. But we all have this weird sort of attachment with her. When she doesn't come home for a few days we miss her and worry. When she finally strolls back in, we act as if we really love her. And on some level we do. Google "traumatic bonding" I believe that explains it all.

One day, I get the "responsibilities" and I call the vet.She hasn't had a check up or her shots in at least 3 years. I say "Cecelia" and feel the dread. I go pick up the tranquilizer that I have to give her 3 hours before the appointment. I hide the pill in wet cat food and she scarfs it down. I go about my chores and tell the kids make sure to not let her out and keep an eye on her. OK, they say. Cecelia knows damn well there is something going on. I think she heard me on the phone despite me being in the bathroom with the shower running and my oldest standing outside the bathroom door running the hair dryer. About 45 minutes before her appointment time I go looking for her. How far could a stoned cat get? Apparently farther than I thought.

There are four of us casually searching the house for her. Quietly because if we start saying her name or making any sudden movements she will either attack us or run away. I finally find her in the basement curled up on top of a box. I say hello and she immediately crawls into a hole in the wall. Yeah, that tranquilizer had no effect whatsoever. I follow her to the next room in the basement, and then the next. She does a backtrack, loses me and shows up in the kitchen where my 10 year old picks up her trail. We finally have her cornered in the living room and she is ready for a fight. I throw the towel over her and squash her to the ground. She is screaming and hissing and doing her very best to kill me. A whole 10 pounds of cat. I can't describe the fear I have of this cat when she is manic. I am reading her her rights as I am trying to stuff her into the cat carrier. Two of the kids have bolted, my oldest is there hopping around behind me wanting to help, but not wanting to be eaten alive. I finally get her in the box and get it locked. Cece is pissed and high as a kite.

As I drive the 2 miles to the vet, she doesn't make a peep. Doesn't move a muscle. Deadly quiet. I walk into the vet and I say "The tranquilizer didn't work." And Cece lets out this growl that made the Akita in the waiting room pee. The secretary looks at me as if this is all my fault. I tried to tell them I think she has a severe chemical imbalance and we should give her at least 3 tranquilizers. No one believes me.

I get into the exam room and I am trying to talk to her and every time I say something she drowns me out with this Siamese meow scream. The people in the waiting room can hear her. The vet comes in and we open the carrier and try to get her out. She is doing a Tom and Jerry and has her legs spread, bracing herself on both sides of the carrier so as not to fall out. I gently shake the carrier. More hissing and spitting and meow screaming and one foot pops out. The rest of her is still braced inside. Shake some more, another foot, shake some more and out pops the puffiest insanity I have ever seen. Wild cat. Vet tries all the regular vet tricks. Nothing is working. The strange thing is Cece is blind at this point from the tranquilizers. Her third eye lid has completely closed. So, she is mad and blind and violent. The vet finally gives in and gets the leather gloves that go up to the elbow. He gets Cece cornered and somehow this blind, vicious cat manges to get one of the gloves off. That is when the vet gets scared. He backs up and says "well, I am going to give her a clean bill of health!" He hadn't even touched her! She scared the vet!! I don't think the vet ever thought of his profession as risky until he met Cece.

I walk out to pay at the desk (pay for what I am not sure as all that happened was an attempted murder of a vet by a cat, not exactly a service) and the other pet owners in the waiting room are looking at me like am a bad kitty mom. Cecelia is in her box with a steady stream of obscenities issuing forth:F this... I'm gonna effen kill you... just wait till we get home....when you fall asleep...none of you are safe anymore... I just smile through the insanity and fear and take her home. I probably should have had her arrested at that point. But she needs a mental facility not a jail sentence.

We get home and she is so stoned she can't even walk straight. She walked into the wall then staggered into my room and went straight under my bed. And she stayed there, bombed out of her face for three days. She didn't pee, poop or eat. She would get up, walk a few steps and fall over. It was the residual effects of the tranquilizer. Although cats on drugs can be amusing, this was rather concerning. To have this ornery, bitchy cat reduced to a stumbling drunk. After the drugs wore off, she was bad. She hangs onto her anger like a professional. She took to sleeping on my pillow, curled around my head. Terrifying.

But her kisses are are adorable. No one can pet her, but if I lean down to her she will touch her little nose to mine. If she is happy she will jump up on my lap and rub her face all over my face. All I have to do is not make any sudden movements.She is the definition of a skinny bitch.