Six pound, 10-ounce terrorist

Got to the veterinarians’ yesterday and found I’d have to retrieve my cat myself – barely six months old, and not weighing even seven pounds, Sis (nee Cisco) had backed down the entire tech staff. She was scared, in pain from being spayed, and was NOT coming out of her cage with all those dogs around. Revenge has claws and knows how to use them.

It didn’t help that in her reaction to the caged dogs’ presence, Sis had bared her three-inch fangs and hissed like a furious cobra. I didn’t blame anyone for not reaching their hand into her cage. (I had a few hesitant moments myself.)

But it ended well; we talked her into being a little calmer and after I carefully gathered the towel from her carrier around her tiny body, she let me pick her up gently and place her in the carrier for the trip home.

Above is her photo during breakfast this morning, when she was telling me all the details. I confess, I’ve got some (guilty) pride in her not backing down, no matter the odds or the size of her fellow patients.

You’re one tough little cookie, Sis.