I’ve been to the vet. I mean, I’ve been to the vet with the cat. The cat was far less inconvenienced by our trip than I was. She retained her carefully cultivated phlegmatic attitude all the while when I was checking hysterically if she was getting hysterical yet.
The cat bore the poking and probing with a stiff dignity which I should feel inspired to assume at my next check at the gynecologist (where I will go without the cat).
I paid the vet with my rent money and in return received a tip for cat vitamins and an informed opinion that the cat wouldn’t die of it. Whether she won’t die of her eye problem or of the vitamin prescription remains unclear. I suppose it’s an irrelevant distinction, as long as she doesn’t die.
I liked the vet though. He’s a new guy, but he looked familiar, and I couldn’t quite remember why. Then it dawned on me. He looked just like my general practitioner. I wonder if I should be worried about the cat’s health or my own.