12/07/2004: "weather was bad, and so was our day"
It was a traumatic day for both of us, but especially for my cat Coco. Without a warning, she was locked into a tiny carrier, thrown into the bicycle basket, traveled in the cold morning air, and emerged terrified at a veterinarian's office a few minutes later. She shivered clutching on my shoulder for half an hour while we waited. Although this was the first time at this vet, she knew where she was. Each time she knows. The horrible place. A veterinarian's office. Last time she was at a vet, he looked into her mouth, and said. "These are getting loose." Then he grabbed a wrench, and plied one of her fangs out. Without a warning neither to her or me. I found his behavior too violent, and took her to a different doctor. He was a very gentle, nice person. His dog's name was even Coco. A little dachshund who greeted us in the waiting room. He took her in for dental work, and a few hours later she lost five more teeth. (Last year she had three extractions.) In the waiting room at the vet, the chart on the wall said that 15 year old cat is about 76 years old in human age. So Coco is almost 76 years old. That's not so bad. She may have another 25 years and live to be 100. The cat I grew up with back home lived to be over 100 in human years. Then I felt really sad thinking about the day Coco will leave. She came home tonight in misty rain, still sedated and weak. When I held her, I felt she was smaller than before.