A little over a year ago, we adopted a rescue kitten and named him Baxter. He is a sweet, sweet kitty! He snuggles, he plays, he sleeps. He is so good natured that he even let 8-year old Lily haul him around when she was here for a visit. She took him repeatedly from point A (the counter, the table, the washer and dryer) to point B (the floor, the floor, the floor). He didn't protest AT ALL. He is such a GOOD boy!
There was a pen of cute, cute kittens in the reception area, and since Baxter is an only cat and an indoor cat, I thought that he might like to meet some of his own species. I put his carrier down near the pen so that they could all meet. The kittens were thrilled. They wanted to meet Baxter, play with Baxter, love on Baxter; Baxter hissed. And hissed some more.
We went into the exam room where I let him out of his carrier and he was quite happy to wander around and sniff all the new smells.
The vet tech came in. She talked sweetly to him. He hissed.
The vet came in. When it was time for Baxter's shot, the vet took ahold of the area where the shot would go, and Baxter WENT CRAZY. Batsh*t CRAZY! He tried to bite the vet; he tried to claw the vet; he hissed at the vet.
I was mortified. I apologized. He has never done any of this before!!! I promised. I apologized some more and then asked if someone could trim Baxter's nails.
We can try, the vet answered through clenched teeth. He took Baxter away to a different room. I don't know what happened, but Baxter's nails were trimmed and we were sent on our way.
Once we were home, my sweet Baxter returned. I don't know who that cat was at the vet's.
Not MY Baxter.