the vieve and i are getting ready for god only knows what. as part of this, the other night we took a field trip to the vet to get the ball rolling on her USDA certification.
i'm realizing i maybe overly analyze the psychology of what it must be like to be a cat. because if someone kept me in my apartment for six solid years (excepting that one time i made a run for it and got halfway down the front stairs before the peapod guy gave me away with a shout of 'lady, did your cat get out?'), i would be scared shitless to ever leave.
vieve, apparently not so much.
girl is a rock star. upon arriving at the vet and encountering a dog, she didn't hiss or screech, but simply stared that bitch down.
in the exam room, she was more curious than scared, poking around with such an attitude of belonging there that the vet decided to conduct her entire check-up on the floor.
when they tested for extant microchips, she took to the scanner's touch as though it were a petting. and there was no crying when they microchipped her, vaccinated her, drew blood or stuck a thermometer up her ass.
the vet- who was already a little in love due to her "exceptional color scheme" and the orangeness of her eyes- stepped back in awe and said, "pretty girl, you are chill."
after they'd taken her away for labs and then brought her back showered in compliments of how she was The Best Cat Ever, the vieve and i sat together waiting for the vet's return and she curled up on my lap. one of the lab tech's poked her head in to check in and noted: "god, she's drooling with happiness!"
it's funny how you can live with an animal for seven years and not really know them. it's funny how quickly happiness spills into sheer panic.
that night, vieve fell in the crack between the bed and the wall. terror ensued. and it was just as it was before, where- cursing her stupidity- i reached into the crevasse and heaved her out, shivering, shocked, the flares of static electricity sparking between us like something out of star wars.