sulking

(Gus[L] and Juan sulking grainily.)

Hi, kids!  Jane is on the highway back from Maine and she called and asked if I would mind putting something up in her stead this afternoon.  I didn't really have anything planned, so I'm going to tell you a little bit about my morning.

When Juan Carlos was sick last week (and he's all better now, thanks fer askin'!), the vet reminded me that it's time to update their shots, especially since our area has had an inundation of raccoons, foxes, and opossums carrying rabies.  So, bright and early I greeted my sister in law, Mrs. Patrick, at the door and we tackled the problem of which cat to place in my one cat-carrier.  Juan C is younger and stronger, but Gus's claws are sharp like broken glass.  Gus went in the carrier, especially since Juan has never been known to intentionally scratch a person.

We piled into the car, cranked the A/C, and off we went, and thus began our Night at the Opera.  I don't know how many of you are familiar with the sounds that Siamese cats make.  What begins innocuously enough as this can rapidly escalate to this and eventually become this.  Somehow between the two of them, my fellas seem to be able to hit all the marks, producing ever more distressing and heart-wrenching noises, making what is normally a fifteen minute, mildly tedious drive into a year-long gauntlet of horrors.

"YE GODS, MY WORLD IS ENDING AND I SHALL PERISH FORTHWITH!!" cried Juan Carlos from the passenger side floorboard.

Gus was more bellicose and threatening, "THIS IS INTOLERABLE!  I SHALL HAVE YOU ALL SHOT, DO YOU HEAR ME?  SHOT WITHOUT A BLINDFOLD OR A LAST CIGARETTE!!  LET ME OUT OF THIS BOX!  AT ONCE!!"

"OH, FIE!!  FIE UPON ME!!" Juan chimed in, "OH, WOE!  ALL IS ASHES!!"

Gus had hooked a giant claw through one of the carrier's vent holes, "SHOW YOUR FACES YOU YELLOW-BELLIED CATAMITES!!  I WILL TEAR OUT YOUR HEEAAAAAAAARRRTS!!!" 

"OHHHH, I DIE!!  I DIE!!" 

Mrs. P held up admirably to the strain, although I believe that the drops of blood leaking from her shattered eardrum did startle her at first.

Then, about a block from the vet's office, Gus's cries took on a new and piercing urgency, followed by an abrupt and ominous silence.

"Uh oh," said Mrs. P, "I think he just took a crap in the carrier."

She was right.

The windows went as far down as we dared allow them for the rest of the trip.

Fortunately, it's just one of those cheap cardboard containers, easily replaced.  "We've got a fecal sample from Gus if you guys want it," I told the receptionist, "Otherwise, I don't think we're going to need this anymore."

"SERVES YOU RIGHT, YOU BLOODY SAVAGES!!" Gus howled from my arms, probably angry that I had managed to extract him from the carrier before he could tread in the poo and paint my shirt and arms with it.

And then as soon as the vet and her assistant appeared, miraculously, my snarling, spitting demon-spawn sons suddenly became adorable perfect angels, all purring blue-eyed innocence and compliance. 

"Oh, thank god, they're finally calming down," I said as they took Juan Carlos's pulse and respiration.

But both cats shot me a look that said, "Oh, no, little man.  We will deal with you in the car.  We have not forgotten your role in this."

And now, as you can see, they're both disdaining my company and sulking out on the back steps.  I think I'd better put all my shoes and boots up high and out of spew-range before I leave for work.  This could turn ugly.