From the Odessa-Doll File, 2006...

As I have said before, nothing hides better than a black cat, and did she ever! We spent over an hour seeking, chasing, and cornering Odessa for her exam at the vet's. While we call her one of the Ladies for her ordinarily demure demeanor, get her mad and her language could make a sailor blush. She hadn't hissed so many times since we first adopted her.

We took her with Roxie, who was getting a follow-up check on the operation. Good news for the Little Girl: everything's progressed wonderfully. Now our Little Doll, on the other hand...

Hand actually is not the part of the anatomy involved here, not even a paw. Her health is good, she'll be due a tooth cleaning next physical and we have to start doing the daily dental to ward off possibility of gingival evil. Her teeth are in good shape now. So far so good. However, the Black Russian takes her morning beauty nap seriously and does not like to have it disturbed under any circumstances. We know she's a Lady because she only cusses at home. Good enough. Now I want to know where Odessa had picked up beans, beer and Taco Bell!

The first breath of fresh air wafted about the exam room after the initial going-over by the tech. We managed to clear the air by the judicious fanning of health pamphlets from their slots on the walls. Then she blew a new mist of Eww d'Odessa a moment later. But the piece de resistance -- and I do wish she could have resisted -- was when she was getting the exam. Our vet does a butt check (check, not cheek!) whenever she sees someone; she'll lift the tail and examine the anus. And that's when Odessa readied, aimed and fired.

Omigod, the poor vet! She drew away quite sharply, growing rather green about the hairline, and we could soon see, or smell, why. You see, Odessa has a streak of antisocial in her, and I swear on my mother's dentures she can fart at will. And this third one was causing dizzy spells. The vet and her tech hightailed it, making a feeble excuse of getting the syringes for the distemper and feline leukemia. The syringes that were lying on the counter behind the exam table. O...kay! But the cloud soon spread to the point where we had to rapidly open and close the door to fan out some of the chemical weaponry, and frankly the doctor and assistant took too long away to just get syringes.

"Ha! Stupid two-legs! Think you can chase me all over my home and put me in a box, do you? Shlep me into that thing on wheels and into that -- that OFFICE, will you! You FOOLS! Do you not know that I possess the POWER within me? Deep within, down to my bowels... HA!!! THROUGH my bowels! I shall tear-gas you into submission for this. How DARE you disturb my naptime?!"

Copyright © Baha Singh
October 13, 2007