Is it terrible that I felt an odd sense of amusement when the cat displayed a growl and hiss vicious enough to make the vet take a quick, fearful step backwards? All the poor guy did was try to give the cat a cursory physical and he damn near lost his hand. Max also went after the Spouse Thingy, spitting and swiping at him with his paws, and just before we left the vet’s office he managed to bite me. It’s just a tiny mark where one of his canine teeth raked my thumb, but still. He drew blood!
I’ve never heard him growl before, and have never seen him spit with such venom. He turned into a little wild man, so pissed off that the vet had to wrap him in a towel, complete with total head covering, to take him to another room so the tech could help him vaccinate the little shit.
As far as the vet could tell without risking fingers and possibly a liter of his own blood, Max is healthy. He didn’t seem too sure about the idea of getting a kitten—probably afraid Max would disembowel another cat—but thinks (because Max has co-existed peacefully with another animal before and seems to be trying to talk to the outside cats) a kitten might help Max be more active. So the kitten-hunt may officially begin.
We may never be welcome at that vet again, though…