Mr Tommy Fluffpants needs his jab ! A major task for Jos Biggs. Read and enjoy.

The doors and windows are shut, the blinds are down and I'm going into hibernation for the rest of the day!

I am heaving a huge sigh of relief – both cats have been vaccinated!

At the beginning of June I become anxious, and this state of anxiety escalates throughout the month until by the end of the month I am full-on stressed.

Si is not so bad; I wrap her up in a towel and drop her without dalliance into the top-opening cat box, while all the while turning a deaf ear to her obscene language. 

She knows it has to happen, and she tolerates it with bad grace.

But Mr Tommy Fluffipants presents far more of a challenge. Getting him to the vet is like Hercules Meets Crystal Maze!

If he knows something is up he disappears. However, if I can collar him before he realises what’s happening and succeed in stuffing him into the box he will exert superhuman (cat) strength and burst the box. He burst 2 brand new plastic boxes before I came up with a strategy for keeping him contained – I wasn’t going to spend endless euros buying new boxes only to find myself sweeping up bits of plastic cat box from the kitchen floor!

The answer was – tranquilise him. I got this to a fine art; he refuses all food that contain suspect substances, but I needed to get it all down him for it to have any effect, so I mashed up the pill, which is tiny, licked my finger, loaded it with tranquiliser powder, caught him round the back of the neck and held on for grim death while rubbing his go-to-sleep powder into his gums.

Then, that beacon of common sense, Julia suggested getting a dog cage. So I did. It’s made of metal, so I reasoned it might be a match for his Incredible Hulk outbursts.

More in optimism that hope I put it on ‘his’ table and put his food right at the far end, then settled in to surreptitiously watch what he was going to do.

I had mentally calculated how long he could refuse food before starving, and reckoned he would probably survive on his fat stores for 3 days until hunger overcame him.

I did not expect him to walk straight in! I seized the moment, gave his fluffy pants an encouraging push and shut the door, very fast.

He was furious! He flung himself at the sides, the back, the door, even the top, but to no avail – the cage remained intact.

No doubt a physicist could explain his methods; he bunches himself up small then launches himself with explosive force – much like a cat-shaped trebuchet.

That didn’t work, so he stuck his hand through the bars, found the door, and attempted to slide the catch back. That didn’t work either – I’d fastened it with a snap ring, just in case!

Physical exertions were not working, so he switched to vocalisation. Normally he expresses himself with a small squeak – Moo, uttered in a penetrating treble. However that is merely a hint of his full vocal range – he has mastery of the full range, from bass-baritone – Yeeaouwgh, right through to the treble. 

And he has no trouble with projection – I imagine the whole of Limaria heard him!

Satisfying footnote – it took the vet, the assistant plus me to get him back in the cage after his injections!