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May not be as humorous as I usually try to be. I'm still sort of angry about this one. People, please teach your kids about boundaries and respect for other people's property.
I took one of my cats, Herbie, to the vet today for a routine checkup. Herbie always garners a fair amount of attention wherever he goes just because of how massive he is -- not fat, but incredibly long-legged and slinky, with the blunt, wide face reminiscent of one of the larger feline families. We have a carrier intended for a medium-sized dog, and Herbie cannot lay out comfortably in it. Thus, whenever I have to take him from the vet, he always ends up being the subject of intense speculation and incredulity. One man offered me two hundred dollars for him.
Anyway, so I'm sitting there with the carrier on the floor at my feet, waiting to be called, and Herbie is doing his Herbie things, which include (but are not limited to) purring at nothing, staring blankly into space, and being fucking huge, which I imagine takes a lot of energy given how much time he spends sleeping. Also in the office is a woman with a boy who looks to be about nine years old. He's carrying a piece of what looks like aquarium tubing because . . . hell, I don't know. Because kids are weird, I guess.
At some point, while his mother is arguing with the receptionist over the price for adopting one of the kittens they have (our vet keeps two in the office for this), the kid wanders over and examines the carrier and my cat with interest. After a moment, without so much as a look at me, he drops down to one knee and tries to open the carrier.
"Uh, excuse me," I say dryly, pulling it back, "but that's not yours, and my cat is staying inside."
He glares at me, actually planting his hands on his hips and thrusting his head forward as if his homestyled bowl cut is going to intimidate me. His mother twists around, pausing in her tirade (which includes such gems as "Do you even have a high school education?") to give me a dirty look. "He just wants to see the kitty." she says acidly. "Let him open it up and have a look, for God's sake."
I love when they do this. It's like someone, somewhere above likes me and gives me the go-ahead stamp of approval to be catty.
Regardless, I'm not going to get into something here in the vet's office with this fop and her bratty excuse for a kid. I just give her my best patronising smile and very pointedly return to my book. Oh, Matt Brooks. Your zombie apocalypse brightens my days! There are so many people here in the real world who could use a good brain eating. Speaking of . . .
She stares at me a moment longer, then turns back to the receptionist.
And that's when her kid rips open the door to the carrier and sticks the tubing he's carrying in, whipping it from side to side as hard as he can.
I do not believe in being indulgent in the face of poor behaviour, especially when the parent is such a complete fucking tool. I snatch the tubing out of his hand, ignoring his cry of "THAT'S MINE", and pitch it out the open window, slamming the cage shut with my foot. I turn back to the kid and hunker down to his level -- this takes some doing, since I'm six feet tall, so I suppose fairly intimidating when I'm angry -- and smile at him.
"Sparky, if you don't back off my cat, I will END you." Which is actually a less colourful version of what I really wanted to say, but hey -- a kid's a kid.
"That's it!" his mother screams, descending on her son and wrenching him back protectively. "I'm not giving this place my business anymore! Not when I see the sort of people you keep as clients! You're sick!"
I assume this last is directed at me. Hell, maybe I am; sick, that is, of parents who let their kids run wild because they can't be bothered to discipline them properly. I'm still shocked the kid did what he did. I wasn't exactly raised with a heavy hand, but even as a little Cookiesaur I knew you did not behave that way.
I have met a lot of kids out and about. A lot of them are smart, sweet, funny little weirdos who will grow up to be smart, sweet, funny grown-up weirdos -- the best kind. I just hope these ones grow up to outnumber the brats.
I guess there was an upside to the whole thing. The vet definitely does not want their animals being adopted out to people whose kids think beating them with a rubber tube is a good time.
Herbie, for the record, was spooked but fine. He demonstrated this by showing he's also part velociraptor as he launched himself off the vet assistant's chest with his hind claws for purchase as she picked him up.
So that was my day. Met a crazy woman, almost eviscerated someone with a cat. I guess it all balances out in the end.
I took one of my cats, Herbie, to the vet today for a routine checkup. Herbie always garners a fair amount of attention wherever he goes just because of how massive he is -- not fat, but incredibly long-legged and slinky, with the blunt, wide face reminiscent of one of the larger feline families. We have a carrier intended for a medium-sized dog, and Herbie cannot lay out comfortably in it. Thus, whenever I have to take him from the vet, he always ends up being the subject of intense speculation and incredulity. One man offered me two hundred dollars for him.
Anyway, so I'm sitting there with the carrier on the floor at my feet, waiting to be called, and Herbie is doing his Herbie things, which include (but are not limited to) purring at nothing, staring blankly into space, and being fucking huge, which I imagine takes a lot of energy given how much time he spends sleeping. Also in the office is a woman with a boy who looks to be about nine years old. He's carrying a piece of what looks like aquarium tubing because . . . hell, I don't know. Because kids are weird, I guess.
At some point, while his mother is arguing with the receptionist over the price for adopting one of the kittens they have (our vet keeps two in the office for this), the kid wanders over and examines the carrier and my cat with interest. After a moment, without so much as a look at me, he drops down to one knee and tries to open the carrier.
"Uh, excuse me," I say dryly, pulling it back, "but that's not yours, and my cat is staying inside."
He glares at me, actually planting his hands on his hips and thrusting his head forward as if his homestyled bowl cut is going to intimidate me. His mother twists around, pausing in her tirade (which includes such gems as "Do you even have a high school education?") to give me a dirty look. "He just wants to see the kitty." she says acidly. "Let him open it up and have a look, for God's sake."
I love when they do this. It's like someone, somewhere above likes me and gives me the go-ahead stamp of approval to be catty.
Regardless, I'm not going to get into something here in the vet's office with this fop and her bratty excuse for a kid. I just give her my best patronising smile and very pointedly return to my book. Oh, Matt Brooks. Your zombie apocalypse brightens my days! There are so many people here in the real world who could use a good brain eating. Speaking of . . .
She stares at me a moment longer, then turns back to the receptionist.
And that's when her kid rips open the door to the carrier and sticks the tubing he's carrying in, whipping it from side to side as hard as he can.
I do not believe in being indulgent in the face of poor behaviour, especially when the parent is such a complete fucking tool. I snatch the tubing out of his hand, ignoring his cry of "THAT'S MINE", and pitch it out the open window, slamming the cage shut with my foot. I turn back to the kid and hunker down to his level -- this takes some doing, since I'm six feet tall, so I suppose fairly intimidating when I'm angry -- and smile at him.
"Sparky, if you don't back off my cat, I will END you." Which is actually a less colourful version of what I really wanted to say, but hey -- a kid's a kid.
"That's it!" his mother screams, descending on her son and wrenching him back protectively. "I'm not giving this place my business anymore! Not when I see the sort of people you keep as clients! You're sick!"
I assume this last is directed at me. Hell, maybe I am; sick, that is, of parents who let their kids run wild because they can't be bothered to discipline them properly. I'm still shocked the kid did what he did. I wasn't exactly raised with a heavy hand, but even as a little Cookiesaur I knew you did not behave that way.
I have met a lot of kids out and about. A lot of them are smart, sweet, funny little weirdos who will grow up to be smart, sweet, funny grown-up weirdos -- the best kind. I just hope these ones grow up to outnumber the brats.
I guess there was an upside to the whole thing. The vet definitely does not want their animals being adopted out to people whose kids think beating them with a rubber tube is a good time.
Herbie, for the record, was spooked but fine. He demonstrated this by showing he's also part velociraptor as he launched himself off the vet assistant's chest with his hind claws for purchase as she picked him up.
So that was my day. Met a crazy woman, almost eviscerated someone with a cat. I guess it all balances out in the end.
I love cats!
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