My name is Albert. I am a cat. A rather handsome cat. I live at Hanover Veterinary Hospital.
I would like to speak to you today on the subject of trampling. Cat trampling, to be exact.
There are many ways for a cat to be trampled at a veterinary hospital, which I was not aware of, or I may have taken up residence at a quieter facility, such as a nursing home.
You see, there are dogs at a veterinary hospital. And although I don’t pay much attention to dogs, it is easy to be trampled by them. Large dogs, small dogs… They are like herds of buffalo.
And then there are the people. They are forever stepping on me, unceremoniously removing me from counter tops or stuffing me into my cage when “The Bird” is boarding. They are afraid I may eat him. Let me explain something my friends. It is truly too much work to pull the bird through the bars of a cage for a meal. It is much easier to lay on the counter like I haven’t a care in the world and look adorable. Now that’s an easy meal. Humans are so gullible. They break out the treat jar just on the merits of my appearance.
Anyway, I digress. Back to the subject of trampling. Once particularly frustrating incident happened very recently. I was minding my own business in the cat room. Ah, I just love that room, beautiful music, wonderful smells, privacy. There is absolutely no privacy in that cat ward. Harrumph. Anyway, back to the trampling incident. I very expertly knocked the treat jar down from the shelf and removed the lid. The treats, however, were just out of reach, so I had to put my head inside the jar. They don’t tell you it is easier to put your head into a jar than it is to remove it from the jar.
The stupid thing stayed on my head, knocked me off balance and onto the floor. I ran, treat jar still on my head, into the hallway where I, in a deft whirl of action, threw the jar off my head and spilled glorious treats across the floor. It was heaven. Until the trampling began.
The humans came running. At first, I thought they were in awe of my jar removing skills, but alas, this was not the case. They were only concerned with my expertly hunted treats strewn across the floor. They proceeded to trample over the top of me with not only their feet, but brooms and dustpans. They were trying to rob me of my hard won prize! The more I scrambled to eat the treats off the floor, the more they trampled me, until every last treat was gone, dumped into the abyss that is the garbage can.
And then, they dumped me into lock up. Into the cat ward. With the fat man they call Papa. He’s a nice enough chap really, but I’ve done nothing wrong and I don’t appreciate being treated like a prisoner.
So, for now I wait patiently, talking to anyone who will listen, usually the fat man, until I escape once again. Next time, I believe I will be content with laying on the counter and receiving treats.
