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June 27, 2008
The Natasha Chronicals: Transition
Day 1: Thursday
Ms. WAS sits through a long afternoon meeting while Mr. MMB takes Maya to the vet for a set of routine vaccines. He has been instructed to pick up two cat carriers, and to convince the vet to give him sedatives to calm Natasha, Ms. WAS's angry and spiteful pet. Mr. MMB fulfills his duty admirably—explaining to the vet that simple children's Benadryl to "take the edge off" was not going to cut it—and the vet hands over some cat prozac.
Day 3: Saturday
Ms. WAS and Mr. MMB arrive at her place, with cat prozac and carriers in tow. The chubby cat Madchen walks right up to them, amicably hopping into the carrier. Natasha, suspecting something, hides under the bed—hissing and spitting as Ms. WAS pushes a plate of delectable prozac-laced strawberry yogurt as near as she dares. The yogurt, daintily licked, immediately produces foaming at the mouth and more growling. Prozac-embedded cream cheese receives an angry paw swat and dramatic flailing. So does prozac-embedded cheddar cheese. Ms. WAS and Mr. MMB cut their losses, grab Madchen, and hit the road.
Day 5: Monday
Having her food removed two days before, Natasha is more amenable to prozac-tainted food. Ms. WAS is delighted to see the cat imbibe her treats, but unfortunately the prozac isn't strong enough. In fact, the drugs seem to only enrage her more. There is no coaxing her out from under the bed. Thirty minutes of sweaty pushing and prodding (by Ms. WAS) results only in tiger-like growling, frantic spitting, and labored breathing (from the cat).
Day 6: Tuesday
Ms. WAS repeats the process of the day before, but this time with a sweatshirt to protect her arms and two heavy winter mittens to protect her hands—including the finger that has not quite recovered from the last moving attempt. Natasha is more amenable to the prozac-laced chicken in gravy, but once again, Ms. WAS makes no progress. In the attempt, however, bladder and bowel control is lost (by the cat) and tears ensue (by Ms. WAS).
Day 8: Thursday
Ms. WAS takes her case back to the vet, where she explains at length about the cat-moving-process. Stories are exchanged about hysterical cats, and eventually Ms. WAS leaves armed with enough sedative to kill Natasha three times over. She arrives at her condo again, determined that today is the day it will happen. And lo and behold, the sedatives are eaten (tucked in some pill treats), 90 minutes pass, and Ms. WAS cautiously pops her head into the bedroom. She has pulled up the mattress, removed all the portable furniture, and thinks all she will need to do is pick up the sleeping cat and pop her into the carrier. Unfortunately, the sedatives have only made it difficult for Natasha to walk—her rage is still in full effect. Biting her tongue, Ms. WAS girds her loins (literally) with a sweatsuit, re-dons the winter mittens, and uses a combination of two bath towels, a gigantic fleece bathrobe, and a strategically placed tennis shoe to manhandle the cat out from under the bedside table and into the carrier. More excretions are produced (by the cat), more tears are shed (by Ms. WAS)—but in the end, girl and cat wend their way down the 11 stories and into the car, ready for their trip to their new home.
Day 9: Friday
It's just after midnight. Mr. MMB and Ms. WAS have crawled into bed, exhausted from the day's activities. The puppy is sleeping in her crate, Madchen is somewhere eating her eighth meal of the day, and Natasha has groggily crept under their covers. Ms. WAS gets up for a glass of water, and when she returns, Natasha flips out—biting and lashing out—and refusing to cede an inch of the mattress back to her. Mr. MMB foolishly reaches out a tentative hand and is rewarded with a snarling attack. A tense twenty minute passes, and eventually everyone settles down. And then the puppy barks.
