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Meet the Columnist

Columnist, Sheila Moss, is humor writer from  Tennessee. She writes  a weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny things that happen to everyone.

   She has written for  the Daily News of Kingsport,   Griffin Journal, Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton Advocate,  and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News Journal. She has been published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks at Guidepost Books.  Her articles have appeared in numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.

    She is a former board member and past  Editor of  the Columnists.com, website of  the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, the oldest and largest professional organization for columnists. She is the Web Editor of Southern
Humorists.com
  and  a founder of the Southern Humorists writers' organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com

    To carry her weekly column in your newspaper, or to republish an article, please contact her. It's that easy. 

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Invisible Cat...
 


Invisible Cat

Whoever said, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." was incorrect. Hell hath no fury like a cat that has to visit the veterinarian. This cliché was clearly demonstrated to me last week.

I was sitting at my computer at home on Saturday morning, still in my robe, drinking coffee and reading my email. It's Saturday, after all, why rush? My daughter came in: "Did you take the cat already?"

"Take the cat? Where? OH! NO!" I had 15 minutes to get dressed and get there. I had made the appointment a month ahead as Saturday appointments are so hard to get -- how could I forget?

I jumped into jeans and a sweatshirt and grabbed the cat carrier. "Where is the cat?" How is it that animals seem to know when it is time to disappear? A frantic search under the beds, behind the furniture, and in the closets and garage finally produced a cat.

Trying to get a reluctant cat into the carrier would make a good comedy sketch. Somehow she became all legs and claws. She sprawled her legs, caught the edge of the door, twisted and fought frantically, and refused to get inside. I eventually managed to squeeze her in and convince her that she was going whether she liked it or not.

I thought she would scream all the way there, but actually she was pretty good considering that cats, unlike dogs, hate riding in the car. I turned on the radio as I've always heard that music soothes the savage beast. I'm not certain if that includes country music, but that's all I could find on the radio. She was strangely silent, however, pretending that she was not there, probably hoping that I would forget about her.

I sped to the vet's office, keeping an eye in the rear view mirror -- not that I would exceed the speed limit, of course. I screeched into the parking lot, grabbed the cat carrier and ran inside, only 5 minutes late.

"Is Frisky here for her shots?"

At about that moment, Frisky realized where she was and let out a blood-curdling howl that would have rivaled any of her wild African cousins. Apparently, she recalled her last experience at the vet and had no intention of repeating it.

"It's only shots this time!" I told her. Of course, she didn't understand and continued to scream bloody murder as we were ushered into the examination room.

For all the difficulty I had getting her in the carrier, you would think it would be easy to get her out. Are you kidding? She made herself as flat as possible at the back of the carrier and tried hard to become invisible. Finally, I had to drag her from the box. Her heart was pounding and I knew she was scared to death.

I tried to calm her but her eyes remained wide and her heart rate fast. The vet came and did the necessary deed quickly. Frisky was now finished for a year. This time, I had no problem getting her back into the box where she again squeezed herself into the corner and tried to disappear.

We had a peaceful ride back home. Thank God for cat carriers. I could never have done it without one. The cat meowed some, but I think she was just complaining to me about taking her to that horrible place where innocent cats are jabbed with needles.

Back home, I opened the door to the carrier and she shot out like a bullet and ran to the back of the house and hid under the bed. I've not seen her since. I know she still lives here as her cat foot is eaten and the litter box needs cleaning.

Apparently, she has finally accomplished her goal of becoming invisible.


Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
 
 



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