Wednesday afternoon will be a tough one for Gibbs and Ziva.
Their annual trip to the vet begins around 3:30 pm, dependent on the human’s agile ability to get them into their pet carrier.
During this trip, the two will sing the song of their people and stress over the odor of unknown feline and dog butt. The authorities will poke, probe, and weigh the chubby Queen and her svelte court jester. Both will bear the humility of a needle shoved into their skin. They will cry an aria from Pagliacci, shed excessive hair, and refuse to get back into their carrier for fear of the painful ride home in the four-wheel contraption.
On that note, a reading from the sad cat diary is in order…
Funny, the diary didn’t mention anything about a trip to the vet, but I have a feeling someone is going to puke three times upon their arrival home.
I will make Gibbs and Ziva attempt a purr by petting them with two hands.
And ensure them that the nice authorities will negate their sadness with a treat and promise of a better tomorrow.