Panic Attack

I went to lunch with a colleague from years ago, and when I came back home, I was puzzled. Spot was nowhere to be found. At least she wasn't in her usual haunts. After a few minutes searching, I found her stuck between the couch and the window.

She was panicking because she couldn't get out and the heat of the sun was bearing down on her. I don't know how long she had been there, but she was pretty messed up when I found her. Her front legs were soaked from panting and her heart was racing at a phenomenal rate. She had a pretty distressed look on her face. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of a seriously injured kitty-cat.

So, I phoned the vet clinic and slung Spot under my arm. They were nice enough to fit me in almost immediately. I wanted to make sure Spot hadn't suffered a heart attack or something. Fortunately, she turned out to be alright in the immediate term. The good Doctor kicked the tires and checked the fluids, and pronounced that Spot was alright except for the fact she's a few pounds overweight, and she needs some dental work.

After the blood was drawn for some tests, Spot became less than cooperative with the staff. She started growling and complaining about their bedside manner. She let the entire clinic know in no uncertain terms that she hated what was going on. We all had a good laugh at poor Spot's reaction and formulated a plan to get her back into some shape. She's on a diet, and has 2.5 kg to lose. She's got to go back soon to get her teeth cleaned as well.

Hopefully she'll be less traumatized next time she goes. I don't like hospitals, but at least I know what I go there for. Spot, on the other hand, has less of a clue, and I can't blame her for the outlandish reaction. Tough spot for Spot.