On Monday afternoon my mom dashed into the UrbanVet office. She carried a cage with our ailing (and wailing) housemate, Tiger. Cathy was supposed to give fluids to Tiger. She gave up Saturday after stabbing her own finger.
Cathy is terrified of human doctors so she panicked. It took several emails from an online support group to convince her she was going to live.
So what was I doing at the vet? Mom took me along to our vet because she thought I had been paying entirely too much attention to my … um…rear parts. No comment.
The vet tech poked around in places that are never publicly mentioned by Canine Urban Princesses (CUPPIES) like me. Yuk.
But as we were leaving, that nice Dr. Kira stopped by to say hello. She adores me. She told Cathy, “I’m so glad you adopted Gracie.”
Me too, most of the time.
But then Dr. Kira looked at me with a whole different expression.
“Gracie, you’re getting a little chunky here. Better watch it.”
“Right,” my mom said. “She gained about 7 pounds since I adopted her. Time for a diet.”
Oh no. The D-word. Just what I don’t need. I get so much exercise…what more do they want?
This time, I didn’t get a treat on the way out.