Once a year (and only once a year, if I'm lucky), my posse travels to the Thorntown Veterinary Clinic to make sure I'm healthy, trim, alert and responsive, and able to continue eating treats at an epic rate. Dr. Jon gets to gaze into my remarkable eyes, look at my pearly-white teeth, pet my luxurious furs, and *ahem* look at my immaculately clean hindparts.
Then he stabs me in the butt with a ginormous needle and AAB Karen gives him money.
Here he is with his minions:
Well, "minions" might be a bit strong. "Apprentice evildoers" maybe. "Henchmen" (and "henchwomen"). Hmmm. I'll work on the terminology.
Anyhoo, he's the one on the right. He's probably in the middle of an evil laugh.
My posse tells me that it really isn't that bad and that I couldn't possibly find a better, nicer group of people to do all of the rude things that Dr. Jon and his staff do to me.
Then I show them this picture:
Oh, geez, now AB Christine is accusing me of being melodramatic.
Dear Dr. Jon and TVC
Congratulations on 25 years of poking, prodding, and stabbing poor helpless animals. You are very good at what you do. Thanks for being an awesome V-E-T and keeping me nice and healthy!
Purrs and headbutts (and a bite if you come near me with a thermometer),
PS They put pictures of the "Pet of the Day" on their Facebook page. It's kind of fun to look at. All of the dogs are like "Hey, yay! I'm at the Vet! I have no idea what's getting ready to happen to me! Yay! I rode in a car today! Yay!" and the cats look a little more, uh, apprehensive. Yep, we know what's up.