By Liz McLeod
Again Your House Manager
“Certainly not!” demurred Miss Carol T. Cat. “Take that vile bolus away! I’ll not play willing subject to your bizarre experimentation!”
My eyes rolled until my optic nerves grew tight, like a rubber band, and spun them back around again. It’s a pretty weird effect, now that I think of it, but I’ll spare you the visuals. You see enough creepy stuff on the Internet not to have to deal with that. Suffice it then to say that my eyes did, in fact roll.
“Look,” I insisted. “You gotta take this pill. The vet said you’ve got the most extreme case of hyperthyroid she’s ever seen.”
“As in all things,” sniffed Miss Carol, “my accomplishments stand in stark superiority to those of lesser beings. Update my Wikipedia profile at once to reflect this new achievement.”
“It’s not funny,” I retorted. “It’s why you’ve been losing all this weight, and why no matter how much I feed you you’re still hungry. If you don’t take the medication, things will get even worse. Much, much worse. As it is, I can’t call you a ‘ridiculous fat barrel cat' anymore. You’re down to less than ten pounds!”
“My svelte new look is the envy of all,” Miss Carol responded with a deft toss of her head. “You would profit by my example.”
“Just take the pill,” I growled. “It’s yummy! Look! Methimazole! Mmmmmmm, good!”
“Nonsense,” Miss Carol snapped back. “It is not, in fact, ‘mmmmmmm good.’ I recommend you examine its pharmacological profile, and you will there learn it possesses a bitter, unpleasant flavor. Hence the dubious deception of coating it in a villainously-colored orange sugar shell. I, however, am not deceived. Take it away.”
I sighed. It’s been a hard week. You know how cats are. And if you don’t know how cats are, you’ll find out this weekend at the Strand – where we’re proud to present our annual screening of the Cat Video Film Festival! You’ve got two chances to enjoy the very best in zany feline antics compiled from the internet, Saturday and Sunday at 3PM. And the screenings will benefit the Pope Memorial Animal Shelter, which, a decade ago this month, matched me up with a skeptical young feral cat from Searsmont who had decided she preferred the indoor life to fending for herself in the woods. And we hope when you come see this show you’ll think of Miss Carol, and send good wishes her way as she deals as best she can with her present health problems.
“Hmph!” Miss Carol sneered as her way of coping. “The problem, here, is with your feeble attempts to force-feed me those repellent tablets. Of course you know I shan’t permit it.”
“Yeah, I’m an idiot,” I agreed, placing a bowl full of turkey in rich savory gravy on the floor. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Miss Carol, her appetite overstimulated by her medical condition, inhaled the meal with a sound not unlike that of your mother’s old Electrolux. “A very satisfactory gustatory experience,” she proclaimed, licking her lips with ostentation. “My commendations on a well-prepared dish."
“It’s my secret ingredient,” I winked. And just like that, there was one less little orange pill in the bottle.
