When I walked in, the place was a battle zone. General Mom stood astride the demobilized body of her opponent, breathing heavily, but unbowed by the difficulty of the task before us.

“I got her into her harness,” the General said. “Hold the leash while I get my purse.”

Sweetie-Pie had engaged her gravitational enhancer as well as her grappling hooks. When I bent to pick her up, her 18 pounds felt like ten times that much. She slipped out of my hands and went into quicksilver mode, turning her bones into liquid mercury in order to slide around impossible angles and into impossible spaces.

The leash and harness held, however, and the General and I wrestled the animal into the car. At the vet, the General exited the vehicle and said, “She’s trying to get under the front seat!”

“I doubt she would fit under the CAR,” I said, “let alone the front seat.”

Nevertheless, her quicksilver device is state-of-the-art, and she was half-way under a space smaller than her head. I switched on my Hands of Motherly Grasping and pulled her back and onto the ground. In a last ditch effort to discourage handling, Sweetie-Pie jettisoned a cloud of fur and hysterical dandruff, hoping to throw up a blinding screen of hair and dander.

We managed to get her into the building and, thanks to a slick floor with anti-grav and hook-proof properties, into the exam room.

The exam went surprisingly well. She even took her shots without protest.

Certain that our ordeal was over, the General and I were dismayed when Sweetie-Pie was no more eager to leave than she had been to come. In the lobby, while I waited for the General to pay for Sweetie-Pie’s inoculations and examination, Sweetie-Pie dove under the bench (WHY would a vet have benches with unders to them?). Only the Leash of Retrieval keep her within range. Another cat was brought in, this one a quiet and good Maine Coon cat in a plastic cage. Sweetie-Pie slithered over to it and grasped the front grid with her grappling hooks, determined to open the cage, force out the occupant, and barricade herself inside.

Two vet assistants, myself and some choice words from the cat in the cage were necessary to detach my prisoner’s grip.

Outside, Sweetie-Pie re-engaged her gravity enhancer. Fortunately, I’ve been doing my exercises, so I was able to heft her over the sill of the car and onto the floor of the back seat.

Before we reached home, she had her revenge. Through all the skirmishes, we had been unaware that she was carrying a silent but deadly payload. Half-way home, she delivered it.

She is avenged for all the indignity, pain and inconvenience of her morning. Avenged, and more than avenged. And then some.

MA

writing prompt: What happens when one of your characters takes his/her animal or the animal of a friend to the vet?

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