Vet’s prescription for disaster

Veterinarians have earned the love and trust of pet-loving kind, and for good reason.

That’s why nobody would ever expect to be the brunt of a veterinary practical joke. Now, in the spirit of the great shock-u-mentaries that are late-night cable favorites, I, veterinarian and insider, Dr. Marty Becker, am going to pull the wraps off veterinary medicine’s heinous funny bone with a lampoon we call “give your cat this medicine at home.”

It starts out with a cat lover putting off the trip to the veterinarian with a sick cat to avoid the following chain of events: cat hides under the couch, human attempts to extricate the cat and stuff it into a cardboard box, cat claws shred human flesh like a feline Freddy Krueger, cat finally woman-handled (man of the house nowhere to be found, so manhandled not a possibility) into the carrier, cat driven posthaste to the veterinary hospital.

The cat lover then waits and waits for her turn to enter an exam room.

Meanwhile the box rocks and rolls and emits a mournful alien type sound.

Finally, the moment of truth: Like passing a hot potato, Ms. Frustrated Kitty Client hands over the box-banger, daring the veterinarian, “Go ahead, examine my precious kitty … and gently.”

The veterinarian mentally puts on a helmet and body armor before peeking between the box top flaps.

Like a fur-covered jack-in-the-box, out explodes a 10-pound cat ejecting about a pound of furry shrapnel. The cat hisses and rakes the air with its claws in search of a hiding place or escape route.

Product displays fall from shelves as crazy-kitty makes the exam room look like a trailer park after a Category Five hurricane.

Finally, about 325 pounds of restraint (veterinarian plus technician) catch the now nine-pound cat and put on a show called Contortionist Cat Examination. So far so bad. Everyone except the cat is now covered in cat fur. Some are sneezing. Many are bleeding. All are scared.

Amazingly enough, the cat’s temperature is normal but the vet is running a fever. Rather than running blood tests on the cat, the vet figures that since she’s bleeding this may be a good time to run blood tests on herself.

This is where the vet gets even by saying to Ms. Client with a somber vet face: “Socks has an infection that will require treatment at home for the next two weeks. Give Socks one of these tiny pills twice daily.”

Then we collapse with a satisfying smile as we watch the look of panic spread over the cat lover’s face. We shake hands goodbye — feel the sweaty palms and sense the shortness of breath. Like any good mother, Ms. Client is prepared to do the impossible.

As we watch the rumbling box and dazed owner stagger out the hospital door toward the car, we can imagine the World Wrestling Federation Feline Match that will take place once they are home.

Once Ms. Trepidation (formerly Mrs. Frustrated Kitty Client) opens the cat carrier at home, a streak of furry flash-lightning can be seen going under the same couch where this odyssey began.

When Trepidation’s husband and children come home, she announces sweetly and innocently, “We need to give precious kitty a little medicine, would you mind helping mommy?”

If they’ve been through this before, they respond with their own dash for cover. If they are rookies, they may agree to help, having no idea what’s about to happen.

A quick grab extricates Socks from under the couch. With pills and fluffy towels out and doors closed, one set of hands pry open the cat’s mouth and the bell rings for round one: Socks comes out swinging with a classic “bite or flight” response. The family counter-punches by throwing in the towel, literally, over and around the cat to make a cat-burrito to be stuffed with medicine.

Finally, the pill goes down, you lovingly stroke kitty, and everyone heaves a big sigh of relief.

Just then, kitty gives you a direct disgusted look, spits out the pill and runs off to hide under, you guessed it, the couch.

The family takes Round Two in stride as they put on the leather gloves. Not intimidated by a 575-pound opponent (Mom, Dad plus a couple of kids) the cat is ready to explore the floor, walls and ceiling of the living room ala Mohammed Ali as it “floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee.”

Meanwhile, back at the vet’s office, the veterinary team is chuckling.

“Can you imagine all the suckers we sent home to try to medicate their cats today?”

So, next time you visit the vets, and they say, “Give these little pills to kitty,” turn the tables by saying, “No, I think I’ll hospitalize her so you can make sure it gets done. As a matter of fact, would you show me the correct way to give a cat a pill, right now?”

Oh no. Payback. The worm has turned.