Something Weird Is Going On: A Bindi Kitty Story

We had a bit of a traumatic Caturday a couple of weeks back, friends.  I am a traitor, and a liar, and completely untrustworthy. Just ask Bindi Kitty.  She exuded all moods of betrayal.

Don’t be fooled. She’s plotting my untimely demise–and the best way to make it look like an accident.

The day started like any other–my alarm went off, I got dressed and prepared for the day.  The girls followed me around from room to room (like they do) as I pulled on a t-shirt and put the kettle on for tea.  Bindi chirped and stretched soooo long on her kitchen scratching post (yes, we have a scratching post in the kitchen.  Why, what do you have?), and she then began weaving in and out of my ankles, jockeying for snacc.

Luna demanded to be let outside.  It was chilly and damp, and she loves all things chilly (though not necessarily all things damp).  I managed to stumble across to the back door–without breaking my teeth as I tripped over the cat–and let the dog out.  She proceeded to sit on the back deck, just on the other side of the door, waiting to be accompanied by a human on her restroom excursion.  She does that. She needs to pee, but refuses to go out into the yard until one of the humans goes outside with her. It’s like she demands our undivided attention for all bodily functions.  

The appointed time was 9 am.  You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.  Oh, we tried to be all nonchalant, pay no attention to the cat carrier in the bathtub, no one sees us trying to sneak up on the kitteh–but she knows.  She always knows. J.D. put on his best smile and went to give her cuddles–but she would have none of it, human.

How dare you think I’m that stupid, to just melt into your embrace when you clearly have ulterior motives of shoving me into that box and driving around in that noisy contraption you call “truk.”

There was some scuffling, some running upstairs, some desperate hiding under beds.  Ultimately, J.D. won out and came back down with one very upset kitteh digging her claws into his hoodie.  Extracting said claws from said hoodie wound up being a bit of a team effort.

“Here, you hold her back feet while I work on unsticking her front feet.  No, wait, not like that, like this–”

“Ow. Stop. She’s digging in. Ow, ow, ow…”

There were feline groans of protest.  One thing I’ve noticed about the Small One is that she never growls, never hisses.  But does make these little moans and groans and mews that let us know without a doubt that she is displeased.  Usually accompanied by a grand, frustrated tail swishing. If she’s thumping her tail, you know she’s angry. And she was doing it as we extracted her from J.D.’s shoulder.  Not a good start to the day.

The ride to the vet’s office was quiet.  Bindi in my lap in her carrier, Luna looking out the window, knowing nothing more than we were going for a R-I-D-E.  We arrived right on time, and got our girl checked in. While we waited for the doctor in the exam room, Luna sat on the bench like a people (because she is, duh).  Bindi sulked in her box, despite our best efforts to coax her out.

She’s either guarding the wrong door, or ready to leave.
So much NOPE going on. Poor kid.

The whole experience was finished in under an hour–friendly vet came in, chatted a bit, took the baby to the back for blood samples, and then brought her back into the examination room for the rest of the visit.  Everything is fine, Little Bit is healthy, if a bit overweight (so maybe we shouldn’t be calling her “Little Bit”). We need to keep an eye on a couple of bald spots she’s developed in her fur, but there doesn’t seem to be any omens of doom on the horizon.

Apparently the dewormer tastes like banana.

She had no qualms about coming out of her box when we got home.  She knows her house, her living room, her humans, her smell. We all know who the boss is in this house.  (Sometimes Luna forgets, but Bindi is quick to remind her.)

So today, we salute Jenn, our fabulous vet tech, who is able to achieve just the right balance of cuddling and wrestling to get Miss Priss to take her dewormer.  We also want to thank our amazing vets, vet techs, and others who work to help us keep the fur-kids alive, happy, and healthy. Life wouldn’t be the same without our kids, and sometimes we need the professionals to back us up. Because the truth is that once we get home, the girls will divide and conquer.


The committee is in session. All back to normal–sort of.
“Nothing to see here, hooman. Move along.

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