Yesterday I overheard my woman telling her Mum that she's going to take me to the vet next Tuesday. I need a jab. A jab!
Just roll that word around your mouth for a second - "jaaaaaaaaab".
I mean...It's just about the most humiliating thing I can envisage!
Me and the vet have a somewhat fraught relationship ever since he took me in for what was supposed to be a 10 minute tiny cut under local anesthetic to remove my testicles (mind you, I was kept in the dark about this) which turned into a 30 minute torture to fish one of them out of my belly.
His assistant had an emergency at the school of one of her kids, the brat was vomiting I believe, so my woman was roped in as a last minute assistant and she helped him shave my belly. It's a good thing she isn't squeamish, as there was quite a lot of blood involved. She later told me it was a good thing he went delving for my left ball, as it turned out to be deformed and cancerous. "Like a little rotten grape", she said. The shame!!!
And now I have to go see that man again!
The thing is, there's cat disease around, and she says she just can't face me getting ill and perhaps even going to cat heaven. "I couldn't take that, Viggo, I just couldn't", she cried. Silly woman! She obviously doesn't realize I have 8 lives left.
So. Wish me strength!
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