Thursday, January 11, 2018

MURPHY ESCAPES THE VET!



I rushed home to pick up my Murphy for his annual visit to our vet, but I was not at peace because I knew capturing the Murph would be a battle.  He always behaved as if he had been tortured in terrifying ways whenever he left home.  
Molly was sleeping in my bed. 

Maks was stretched out under 
the lamp and he was making funny little noises. But where, oh where, was the elusive bad boy, Murphy?  Hiding of course.  I crept to the closet and lifted out the cat carrier, then casually left it open on the floor by my bed.  I began an exhausting search for Murphy.


 He was fast asleep on the windowsill.  Aha! this would be easy after all.  Silently, I approached the slumbering feline and stretched my arms behind the curtain and grabbed him!  We struggled and he burst free, flying out of the bedroom as if the Furies were in pursuit.

There followed almost an hour of uninterrupted and unsuccessful chasing of a big black cat by a silver haired lady.
Oh, Murphy was in the bathtub!  Now he's trying to hide in the cupboard under the sink with all my shampoo and cotton balls.  But he escapes my grasp yet again and gallops into the studio looking for shelter amidst the paints and brushes and sewing scissors.  He goes under the craft table, but he is still fully visible!  Murphy darts away from his ancient and arthritic  mistress who is beginning to tire.  Where will he be safe?  He tries to hide between the washer and the wall, but it's too narrow for a big boned cat.  Aha! he will hide in Mommy's walk-in closet behind the luggage.  And so he does.  He squeezes behind a big suitcase and he is completely hidden!  Except for his long black tail which gives him away.  I grab him again, but he wiggles from my grasp and slides under the bed.  Groaning, I get down on my knees and try to coax him from his lair, but he just stares at me with his big green eyes, knowing I cannot reach him.  At last, I admit defeat and stagger to the phone to cancel Murphy's appointment.  The girl answering the phone is not helpful.

"Why don't you just grab him up and stuff him in the carrier and come on down?"

Through gritted teeth I tell Miss Cheerful that I have been trying to do that for an hour, but Murphy remains at liberty.

That night I finally fall asleep after watching two hours of sex, violence and various tantrums on Game of Thrones.  I awaken at 4 AM and can't get back to sleep.  Perhaps I'll read for a few minutes, so I turn on the lamp.  And there sitting in the open cat carrier, staring at me with those huge green eyes, is our boy Murphy, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.  He knows the vet is not open at 4 AM so he is safe.  A clear victory for felines.























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