September 17, 1997 is a day that will live in infamy. It was the day I met a small pitiful fur-ball who has proved time and time again she can outplay, outwit, and outlast me. I adopted a tortoiseshell colored cat on a whim and against my better judgement. You see, at the time, I lived in campus housing at the University of Alabama and it had a strict no pet policy. Of course that did not apply to me and my new cat though. Her shelter name was Holly and I renamed her Riley Carson, a tribute to my parents' dog RC. Life began and we got to know each other. She slept on my bed and liked to play chase. The beauty of my living arrangement was that each month, or maybe every two months, there was an inspection. They always gave advance notice so I would pawn Riley off to be cat-sat and then bring her back when they were done. We had been together many months and I was deeply attached to her when I was found out. Riley spent three months terrorizing RC and living with my parents. I moved to a new place and we were reunited. Life was good again. Until the fateful day a small stray flea- ridden tabby found its way into my house. Riley was beyond miffed. In fact she became downright mean. There were hissing contests and mean spirited games of chase Booger around the apartment. Eventually though we settled into a routine and accepted the love-hate relationship Riley had for Booger. She truly loved to hate her. I moved yet again (I was very nomadic in college) and lived with my sister. The time came for Booger to be spayed and heeding Bob Barker's advice I did just that. Then all heck broke loose in the house. Riley sensed weakness in Booger more so than ever before and took advantage. For the better part of 2 months Booger could not leave my closet lest she get pummeled by little black furry paws of doom. I tried everything short of exorcism to get them to co-exist peacefully. Nothing, not even special ordered chicken flavor kitty anti-psychotics helped. Booger gained weight from lack of activity and we finally decided we had no choice. It was a gnarly pile of angry kitties as we threw them together in the living room and said work it out. Finally we were back to the love- hate mode for Riley and it wasn't too bad. It was also during this time that Riley changed her behavior at the vet's office. In the beginning, it was a loud meowing signalling her disapproval. Then she went to the all out running scratching biting cat anytime a white coat approached. Robert, the best cat man at Shamblin Vet Clinic still bears a few Riley love bites. When we moved to Georgia I found what I thought would be a perfect fit for us, vet wise. The Cat Clinic of Roswell, they only do cats. Surely they will now how to make my cat docile in public. After the first visit, Riley had a file. Yep, they wrote bad things on her permanent record. There were specific instructions on how many towels and people needed to be used to render her helpless. The doctor also would have all the shots uncapped and ready to go, so it only took about 2.5 seconds to get them all done. Then she was dropped back into her crate and secured. So after this, no one in the right mind would fault me for neglecting the trips to the vet. Everyone gets stressed about it and I actually had a few nightmares. Then Riley decided to take a vacation last weekend. That darn cat got out of the house and hid. The first day I did not know she was gone. The second day passed with only a brief glimpse of her running away to let me know she was still alive. The third day I managed to get her back with the help of canned cat food. Then came the moment I was dreading. Taking her to the vet. I had no choice, I had to make sure she was okay and get her important shots. The new vet, yep, she now has a file there too and it isn't a good one. When I took her in, I requested no less than three times that they sedate her before they look her over. At the end of the day when I went to get her, they said "Ummm, yeah, you need to come get her out of the big cage." Leather gloves up to my elbows and I was still afraid to grab her. Finally, the vet took her small pet crate, shoved it at her in the cage, cornered her, and forced her inside. A quick tip-up and the door was slammed shut. An hour after we got home, she was fine. Purring and acting like her normal sweet self. I just don't get it. Crazy ole putty tat, she sure does make life interesting.
Riley's first vet visit
See how small Booger was?
Bow down to me, the Supreme Ruler of the House
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