Mystic goes to the vet.

I find it ironic on 6/6/of you know what year this is...Mystic had a vet appointment. Background story here...Mystic is our 18 year old cat. He was my mother's co-worker Rose's cat for 8 years, then her co-worker Albert's cat for a few months, then my mom had it for oh let's see, 6 years, I had him for three now. I rescued Mystic from my own mom cause she was moving, couldn't take her cats and was just going to leave them behind (I'm sure she was being dramatic cause she knew I was just going to take them). Mystic, when I went to take the boys into my custody, literally kicked my ass before I loaded him into the carrier. He so didn't want to leave my mother. He was also, very very sick.

I called around after I got the boys and asked a woman in my town if she could foster them until my mom got back on her feet. The woman said to me "I'll take the 6 year old (Sterling), but the fifteen year old, do him a favor, put him down". She said this after I told her I thought Mystic had kidney disease. The words ring in my head today. Put him down? Why? After the shit life he had being shuffled around his whole life? As miserable as Mystic was, i couldn't do it.

Mystic continued to be a problem child for the first month in our care. He even kicked Signal and Lori's ass (Lori is a 100lb husky) one night. That night changed everything. To get Mystic off the dogs, i sprayed him with a water bottle. I chased him into a windowsill where even a broom wouldn't move him. I sat down on the floor exhausted...mentally and physically.

"You can't go back to her." I said, "It's either me or you were going to die."

I said it and I meant it. I picked up a towel, approached Mystic slowly and carried him from the windowsill. I took him right downstairs where I rocked him in a rocker. Ever since that day, Mystic has worshipped the ground I walk on. And in return, I had a battery of tests run on him. Turned out Mystic didn't have kidney disease, but instead treatable diabetes. He's a 100% different cat.

I won't say he's not a bastard though...I find it ironic how in the mail we got above post card in the mail today...while Mystic isn't a dog...the wanted poster definitely fits the mood. See Mystic...well sort of has a reputation in the vet world. And he definitely has scored a big one in the Bealeton vet scene. It's really something to go to the vet's office and see the vet approach the room, but look inside to see my cat, then quickly walk away and yell to her assistant, "I'm gonna need help with this one."

While Mystic has mellowed out in his old age...he kind of has this weird separation anxiety. His diabetes requires him to have blood drawn. Sometimes, he has to stay in the office all day. However, the first time he stayed in the office all day was for his dental surgery when we first moved to Bealeton. I went to drop Mytic off and I offered to help get him out of the crate (Mystic did this same thing at the old vet's office). The woman at the desk was like "we can get him out, it's ok, just drop him off." (as if to say to me, "Please you neurotic woman, we are professionals"). I literally said "Ok, it's your funeral" and left them with the Mystic bomb. Mystic goes nuts when I leave the room. He's worse than an 18 month old toddler. He's so scared I'm going to come back and he'll have a new owner, he just goes bullistic. At the dental surgery, it took THREE vet techs to get him out of the crate. I wen to pick up Mystic and the vet said "You have a very...interesting cat."

Fast forward to today. I drop Mystic off and there is a new guy at the desk. He goes to bring Mystic back and says "I'll bring your crate right back to you!" (hehe, newbies). After a few minutes, he shockingly comes back and says "Um, we'll have to hold on to your crate." "Can't get him out, can you?" I reply. No answer, "Good luck." I say and leave the whole office in stitches. Later in the day, i call to see how he is doing. The tell me his last blood draw will be at 6:30 pm, so he'll be ready to go home then. I asked how he was doing and all I got was "He's Mystic."

I was sure to be there at 6:25 because I know they are more than happy to get rid of him. Of course there was another couple in front of me picking up their dog from surgery, so they were like taking forever. Suddenly as 6:30 draws close, I hear...

"ROARRRRRRRRR"

...

If you are a parent, you know the feeling of "I'm so glad that wasn't my kid" whenever something bad happens. However, in my case...i knew it was 'my kid' and I just giggled my ass off. The vet explains to the other couple in the waiting room "We have a cat in there that doesn't like to have his blood drawn". Suddenly another ROAR breaks out and I figure it's Mystic being loaded into his crate (something else only I'm allowed to do).

In minutes he's brought out into the waiting room. He hisses at the receptionist. I bend down to look into his crate. "hey Poppy" (my nickname for him) "Did you miss me?" He head butts the crate, then he starts purring...I can't help but giggle. The receptionist gaffaws. I go to check out then i ask "Oh when does the doctor want me to come back?"

You HAVE to understand, my vet is a PAIN in the ASS in the way she insists on seeing Mystic every two months or insists that she needs to keep up on his glucose, yada yada. There have been times she's made me bring him in for a check up or a quick blood draw. She's always on my case about keeping up with his condition. And while I applaud her interest in my cat's health, I have to say this

1) I have 6 other animals
2) Mystic is 18 years old...what's the worst that's going to happen to him?

I wait as the receptionist goes to ask the doctor my question. She promptly returns and says, "The doctor says Mystic doesn't need to come in unless he's not doing well. We don't need to see him until his shots are due". (which is next year).

Go figure...we should have Mystic come for all day visits more often...

-The BB