Arbor is your typical cat. Lithe, agile, and aloof. Max is not. He’s overweight, clumsy, and possesses the intelligence of a nice-sized rock.
It was time for their shots so I loaded them in their carriers and journeyed to the vet. When it was our turn, we entered the little room where the procedures would begin. Now, I told the vet that we should start with Arbor since she’d be the easier of the two, but she gave me this long-suffering “I’m a professional” look and proceeded to open Max’s cage.
I’ve indicated that Max isn’t the most intelligent creature in the world. That being said, he knew where he was and was decidedly unhappy about it. This was recognizable by his being backed up into the rear of the carrier and meowing menacingly. Despite these clues, the vet reached her pretty little hand into the carrier. She immediately jerked it back out and had the nerve to look shocked because Max had bitten her.
From this point on, she let me handle the feline removal portion of our visit. I tried to pull him out but Max had anticipated this turn of events. He had all four paws splayed out so he’s firmly braced in the back of the carrier and I’m unable to get him out.
We began an epic battle that deteriorated to the point where I had the carrier in both hands and was vigorously shaking it up and down in an attempt to dislodge him. He was howling and still, despite my best efforts at negotiation, refused to comply with my request. The vet was watching me with a mixture of, what I perceived to be, awe at my mighty display of dominance over a lesser species and respect at my ingenuity.
Since my use of the Gravitational Removal Technique didn’t work, the vet and I decided to join forces against this poor dumb creature that just happened to be outsmarting us. I grabbed Max with both hands and tugged while she grabbed the carrier and pulled in the opposite direction. Eureka! Max came out with a loud meow of protest and a flurry of claws and fur. He used said claws to firmly latch on to the most convenient thing in the area…me. Now his cries of protest at our unethical behavior are mixed with my yelps of pain.
In the midst of this, the vet asks me if I’d care to take Max out into the hall to be weighed. Since he was currently attached to me like a bad toupee, I agreed to her request. We proceeded out to the hall and I put Max on the scale.
He cowered there looking very pitiful and putting on quite a show for the other employees. When I went to pick him up again, I was surprised when the scale came up with him. He had now managed to wrap all four paws around each corner of the scale. A new battle raged while I tried to detach him. I’d remove his front paws and he’d latch on with his back paws. I’d get those loose and he’d have the front ones reattached. The whole time he’s yowling at the top of his lungs and I’m mumbling threats to have him stuffed.
The vet and I work together to pull him off the scale and get him back into the room where his shot is applied. When we finished, Max gave us a look of disgust and slinked into his carrier.
I didn’t take Max to the vet because I wanted to hurt him, although I did by the time we were finished. I took him for his own good but he made it a miserable experience for all of us. If he’d just trusted me, he’d have been fine and saved himself a lot of heartache.
Isn’t that how we treat God when He tries to do a work in us? We fight, negotiate, cry, kick, and scream every step of the way because God’s not doing things the way we want. We do this because we don’t truly trust in His wisdom. We think we know better than Him when, in truth, we’re no better than a scared cat at the vet. When we finally start to truly trust Him to be Him, we are left amazed by the depth of His love for us.
In short, don’t be a dumb cat. You’d hate to be traded in for a fish.
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