I mentioned briefly last month that Ozzie, the boy half of our Terrible Twin feline duo, had been sent to the vet after spraying a basket of clean laundry.

Ozzie (top) behaves for a change.

Of course in true Terrible Twin fashion, the trip was not without – let’s say challenges.

For reasons we won’t go into here, The Vet was in Swanson.  We live in Beachlands.  Don’t ask.

We had to leave home around six to make the eight o’clock appointment – and after several minutes of frantic pursuit at a time most people are still snoring, and quite a lot of colourful language from The Man of The House we managed to wrestle the little beast into the cat cage and into the car. 

As I turned out of the driveway the protest began.  Any doubt as to his oriental heritage was now gone.  Long, plaintiff miaows ensued. 

After around two kilometres the noise, to my relief, stopped and I told Ozzie what a good kitty he was (in an appropriately nauseating tone that I would not otherwise admit to).  

I settled back in my seat and told myself this wasn’t so bad after all and if the traffic was good, I could stop and get coffee on my way back to the office.  At which point a small black cat miaowed.  In my ear. 

Yes, he was sitting on my shoulder – extraordinarily proud of himself and very pleased to be free.

I nearly had a heart attack.

Ozzie thought this was more fun than his favourite ping pong ball  and proceeded to wind himself around … my face and neck. 

Please keep in mind that at 6.30 in the morning last month it was still dark – and I was now trying to drive with a five month old kitten playing python around my neck.  

I eventually found a spot to pull over safely and bundled Ozzie up. 

Holding him firmly and trying not to think about what would happen if he got loose on the main highway (black cat, dark…yeah let’s not go there) got us both around to the back of the car.

I managed to get the boot and the cat cage open with one hand – all the time wondering how on earth he got out of the cage in the first place.

As soon as I got him in the cage, he tried to get out.

I frantically looked for something to tie the cage shut with and was thrilled to find a plastic bag.

Now I should tell you that while I applaud TMoTH’s sense of civic responsibility in picking up after the slobradogs I was less than enthusiastic to find he had not emptied the last plastic bag. 

In fact both he and the slobradog in question were less than popular at that point. 

Muttering to myself I emptied the bag out (it was the side of the highway, not a walkway, it was dark, I was cold and I had a feline Houdini doing his best to get out – it was the least of my problems) and tied the cage shut.

The miaowing started immediately. Five minutes later it stopped – which made me very nervous indeed. No longer was silence a good thing in my car.

Ten minutes later I pulled into a petrol station and asked the attendant to fill the car up while I yanked the boot open.

I was  met by the sight of Ozzie literally squishing  his way through the gap between the lid and the hinge. 

This SHOULD be physically impossible but we are talking about a very determined little cat here….

It was the turn of the girl pumping the gas to nearly have a heart attack.

“Um you have a cat trying to get out of that cage.” Uh huh – I had noticed.

A quick hunt of the car turned up another plastic bag – thankfully empty – which was promptly torn to shreds and used to tie the lid shut at every possible point before paying and setting off again. 

Ozzie began to miaow.  I turned up the Springsteen CD I was listening to.  Ozzie miaowed louder.  Up went the CD. 

It took an hour and a half to get to Swanson…by which time both Springsteen and Ozzie were at full volume and I would have sold my soul to be anywhere else.

The vet nurse looked at her watch and said… “Can you come back in ten minutes?”