We took the cat to the vet today for his annual booster shots. Madge had me reschedule the appointment so she (and Coco) could come along.
For moral support, they both stuck their heads under my coat as soon as the syringe came out and then were both surprised that it was over without any hissing or meowing or scratches or blood. Then they both almost smothered the poor traumatized kitty on the way home.
The best part:
When the vet and his assistant were done handling the cat, Baci had shed a lot. Madge, in her playful way, started blowing the hairs all over the stainless steel office. She thought it was funny, the cat and the boy didn't care, I thought it was rather cute.
The doctor said, "Please don't do that. I'm allergic to cat hair."
Of course I burst out laughing for what could it be other than a joke.
Turns out it wasn't. The guy had made an unfortunate career choice. (The allergy didn't crop up until a few years into his practice.)
After he told me and I stopped chuckling I stared at him incredulously, not knowing how to ask why he's still a vet.
It's like the story I heard on "Wait, Wait..." about the firefighter who was going through EMT training and kept fainting at the sight of a needle.
Then the doctor said, "At least I'm not allergic to dogs."
Half full, I guess.