Just We Two - Happy Home

M-m-m-m!  A nice rest!  It's so good to sleep.

"Patchy, Patchy!"

"That's Miss Apache to you.  What do you want, Pest?  Besides, I'm busy.  Go away!"

As I said, the Pest can call me Miss, as I have never been married.  Judging by Cherokee, I'm glad I never was.  He annoyed me no end sometimes, just like Pest.  Mom used to share my view of marriage, saying that she would never get married again.  Sometimes men would come over and take her away for a while, but they never moved in.  Things have changed considerably, but I will get to that later.

"Miss Patchy!  Miss Patchy!"

"What now?"

"Where Mr. Cherokee?  I like meet him."

"Well, you can't.  Go to sleep, or go play with your tail or something!"

"I think I like Mr. Cherokee.  He like play.  When he come home?"

"He won't ever come home again, so forget about him.  Now, go away."

"Miss Patchy, why you eyes wet?  You cry?  Why you cry?"

"Just go away and leave me alone.  What a pest!"

"I no pest, I think, but I go 'way.  We play later."

"Don't bet on it!"

What a way to have a good mood spoiled!  There are few enough of them as it is.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh yes, the three of us were settled into our home in Phoenix.  Mom was home most of the time for a while and Cherokee and I really enjoyed that.  We did a lot of cuddling, and she made sure we were fed at the right times and that the litter box was kept clean.  She always told us that she loved us and that made us feel so special, because we loved her, too.  That's why neither Cherokee nor I would ever have bitten or scratched her.  Not for anything!  Except totally by accident during rough play.  This is one area where Cherokee became a bit of a hero. 

After we got settled in, Mom took each of us to see the vet.  I sure hated it when I went, but I behaved pretty well.  When it was Cherokee's time to see the vet, he was really upset.  Mom had to chase him all over the house in order to get him into the box.  We had what Mom said was a loft room overlooking the living room.  The entertainment center was up against the wall in the living room, just under the open area from upstairs.  I think it was twice that Cherokee ran upstairs, jumped up on the half-wall and down onto the entertainment center.  From there, he jumped all the way down to the floor.  It's surprising that he didn't break a leg or anything.  Well, Mom finally got the idea to close all the doors and Cherokee took refuge in the downstairs bathroom.  He kept making the same mistake over and over again, didn't he.

She finally got him into the box and took him out to the car and off they went.  Mom tells people what Cherokee did there.  He was very unhappy and frightened, and put up quite a fight when they took him into the back room.  The vet came out bleeding and said that Cherokee had bitten him.  Hooray!!!  My hero!  Mom had to fax a copy of his rabies vaccination certificate from Massachusetts so that the doctor would be a little happier.  I think that's the last time Mom took Cherokee to the vet until much later on.

Mom took me to the vet a second time, and they needed, of all things, some of my urine.  Ugh!  What on earth did they want that for?  Needless to say, Mom could not get any from me (she could never be sure what was mine and what was Cherokee's), so they had to take it from me in the back room.  One of us was fighting mad and moving around a lot, so some of it got on my fur.  Very disgusting!  I didn't even want to lick myself clean.  They offered to clean me, but Mom said that she would do it at home.  She should have let them, maybe I could have gotten in a few bites and scratches.

When we got home, Mom didn't let me out of the box right away, but took me upstairs to her bathroom.  She put my box in the shower stall, with me in it, took off her clothes and got into the shower stall, too.  She turned on the warm water and opened the box.  There was no way I was leaving that box, at least not on my own power.  Mom upended the box and I was forced to get out.  I got thoroughly wet and was very angry.  Mom just would not let me back into the box.  She had a towel on the shower door, and after turning off the water, she wrapped me in the towel and held it on me for a little while.  I didn't like that, though, so I struggled out of the towel and went somewhere to dry myself off.  At least the urine was off me!  If I never see another vet, it will be too soon.  Of course, I have been a few times since then, but I hope never to go again.  It is always unpleasant, to say the least.

One time, not too long ago, Mom took me to a different vet.  Again, they took me, struggling, into the back room.  I don't struggle when Mom holds me, but they won't let that happen.  They say it is too dangerous.  For who?  Not for Mom.  Anyway, I was struggling and screaming for help.  They did some awful things to me and then brought me back, screaming, hissing and spitting.  Also scratching.  They quickly put me down on the floor of the room with Mom and the box and warned Mom that I might hurt her.  She just laughed and came over to where I was sheltering under the counter, picked me up and stroked me a little and I let her put me in the box.  She knew I wouldn't hurt her and I knew she wouldn't hurt me.

Well, all these memories are making me tired.  Maybe I'll see if Mom is eating anything good for lunch that she might share with me, and then I'll take a well-deserved nap.  Ya-a-a-wn!

Yours,

Apache