Took Elgar to the vet today for his second set of vaccinations and to have a manicure (OK, he had his claws clipped – very different from de-clawing, people! And a much more sensible option than those bloody stupid claw covers I saw in the Metro this morning). He did not want to go in his carrier, but he didn’t bite or scratch; in fact, thinking about it, his protest was quite pathetic. He was a very good little boy and didn’t mew or make any fuss in the taxis or in the vet waiting room. But when he was on the vet table he was practically clinging to the table with his ears flat back – from fear, I think, rather than anger (again, not a hiss or a spit or a meow or a swipe). He got some tuna for his dinner and a new catnip birdie toy for being such a sweetheart. And two taxi drivers ‘aww-ing’ over him.

He’s so lovely when he’s being taken somewhere – he looks out from his carrier with such big eyes. I think he’s lived in so many different places in the last few months he doesn’t want to be uprooted again. Only one more now, kitty. The vet also warned me – as if I needed warning! – that because he’s been so unsettled, he has to stay inside my new flat for at least four weeks. Basically, don’t let him out until I’m confident he knows it’s his home and he’ll come back, especially with his history of scarpering.


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