I’m in a new place. I’m terrified.
This morning, she ushered me into a box. At first I was hesitant to go, but I was so desperate for a change of pace that I submitted.
I rode in the car. It was terrible. I don’t know how anyone rides in one every day. I threw up all over myself. I couldn’t even lick myself clean without feeling nauseous.
We arrived at our destination and entered a noisy, busy building. Peering through the holes in the box, I could see several dogs and a crowd of people. It smelled like there were more dogs and cats than the ones I saw.
I was frozen with fear. I literally couldn’t move. I sat and waited while she talked to a woman behind a counter.
Then she opened the door to the box. She patted my head and wished me well before disappearing out of sight.
They took me into a back room with a cold, metal table. I was poked and prodded and examined. They took a damp wash cloth and cleaned the vomit off my fur.
“Don’t worry, Zero,” said the woman who did most of the poking. “It’s not so bad here.”
Now I find myself in a much smaller space than my bathroom. It’s a metal box, about one body’s length squared. I’ve got food, water, a toy, and a cardboard box. My toilet is literally right next to my food and bed. I can hear that there are other cats in my same predicament. One of my neighbors is meowing just like I did the other night. I know how he feels. Another is scratching in her litter box. Scratch, scratch, scratch. It annoys me. She won’t stop.
I’m not sure why we’re all here.
I’ve been crouched in the cardboard box for hours now. They haven’t come to check on me. I haven’t been able to muster up the courage to eat or use my litter box. I’m really not sure what will happen next.
Even though the bathroom was small, right now I miss it dearly. I wish she would come back and take me home so we could play with the water from the faucet again.
This morning, she ushered me into a box. At first I was hesitant to go, but I was so desperate for a change of pace that I submitted.
I rode in the car. It was terrible. I don’t know how anyone rides in one every day. I threw up all over myself. I couldn’t even lick myself clean without feeling nauseous.
We arrived at our destination and entered a noisy, busy building. Peering through the holes in the box, I could see several dogs and a crowd of people. It smelled like there were more dogs and cats than the ones I saw.
I was frozen with fear. I literally couldn’t move. I sat and waited while she talked to a woman behind a counter.
Then she opened the door to the box. She patted my head and wished me well before disappearing out of sight.
They took me into a back room with a cold, metal table. I was poked and prodded and examined. They took a damp wash cloth and cleaned the vomit off my fur.
“Don’t worry, Zero,” said the woman who did most of the poking. “It’s not so bad here.”
Now I find myself in a much smaller space than my bathroom. It’s a metal box, about one body’s length squared. I’ve got food, water, a toy, and a cardboard box. My toilet is literally right next to my food and bed. I can hear that there are other cats in my same predicament. One of my neighbors is meowing just like I did the other night. I know how he feels. Another is scratching in her litter box. Scratch, scratch, scratch. It annoys me. She won’t stop.
I’m not sure why we’re all here.
I’ve been crouched in the cardboard box for hours now. They haven’t come to check on me. I haven’t been able to muster up the courage to eat or use my litter box. I’m really not sure what will happen next.
Even though the bathroom was small, right now I miss it dearly. I wish she would come back and take me home so we could play with the water from the faucet again.
[z]
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