The she-servant put me in the car this morning, and for a brief time I was overjoyed. I love car rides! I love to travel at speeds unmatched by lesser cats. I peer down from the many windows of her car, looking for inferior cats in backyards, ready to snub them.

Often, the she-servant merely brings me along when going to Dairy Queen. (She is very fat, as I have mentioned in previous posts.) But this time, she was going a different route. I didn’t care, that’s fine. I like to find lesser cats in new areas.

We turned into a drab looking area – not a place I’ve seen the she-servant go for food before. She must be desperate, I thought. Someone please feed this woman.

I quickly realized the truth. It was something much worse.

She had taken me to the vet.

I hate the vet and am always on my worst behavior when in his office. I’ve trained the vet to fear me. Trust me, these claws know what it’s like to shred some veterinarian skin. Feels good. I like it. More than you probably would.

She told the man she thought I seemed to be having trouble hearing. The she-servant signed some papers and the next thing I knew, I had two people to kill: the she-servant, and the vet.

The vet invaded my privacy in several ways too terrible to mention in mixed company. In the end, he declared I was suffering from an ear infection. (This is false.) He dumped medicine into my “infected” ear and sent us home with two bottles of horrible stuff. He asked to see me again in two weeks.

I will never be back. I will bury the rest of this medicine in my litter box and then I’ll deliver a painful education to the she-servant on where to NEVER take me again. She’s got some very clear boundaries to learn.