Truffle's Rotten Day

In martial arts, an adept is able to change his chi, which is sort of like lowering his center of gravity so that in effect, he is rooted to the ground.

Cats know how to do this instinctively. Faced with stepping out of their carriers onto a vet's examining table, 9 out of 10 cats will change their chi, suddenly offering about 400 pounds of resistance and requiring that they be airlifted out the top, squealing and hissing.

Truffle was subjected to a battery of tests archly named The Senior Wellness Profile. She didn't like it. And to be honest, neither did we. Three hours is a very long time to be at an animal hospital, although the staff is very kind.

Truffle, who is normally so relaxed that people mistake her for taxidermy, especially disliked a woman at the appointment desk with numerous piercings and bright orange Raggedy Ann hair. I'm not sure exactly what she told her, but it was definitely catty.

Our first clue that something was wrong was when she neglected to tramp through my hair in bed Monday morning. She seemed disoriented and had no apparent appetite, but it later developed that she wasn't sure she could walk to her bowls. When I brought her breakfast in bed, she scarfed it down and asked for more. She was acting generally spooky and seemed to have some visual problems.

Today she is back to normal, or what passes for normal around here, but the doctor performed a number of tests and plans to do more if necessary when the results are in. So now we wait.

And wait ON. For Truffle now demands to be carried to her bowls, even though her ability to walk is no longer impaired. Not a problem. It's the least we can do for Truffle. At 16, she has been with us for a very long time, and despite her recent unflattering press, she's an incredibly sweet cat.

She is snuggled in her favorite afghan on the bed now, having feasted on chicken sprinkled with fish flakes and performed a manic ritual cleansing. Her hair is spiked out like wet porcupine quills, and she is purring as if she invented the purr.

I am scratching the large hives I acquired at the animal hospital, right before I realized that the waiting room cushion I sat on had soaked my jeans with mysterious fluid from an anonymous donor.

A good time was had by none.