[Loiosh, an orange tabby wearing a blue bow tie, is laying on the roof of a cat stroller. His forepaws are tucked underneath him, and he looks curious and patient.]
Waiting rooms are, inevitably, boring.
Except when you’re in a waiting room with my boys.
To be fair, Loiosh did pretty much just stay in his spot on top of the cat stroller. But even that was enough to get people over to coo over his patience & give him a good scritch.
Tom’s too wiggly to want to stay in the stroller too long when there’s an entire room to explore. Which, after a bit of wandering, wound up with him standing on the receptionist’s desk, contemplating starting shit with one of the office cats, who was contemplating starting shit in return. Said office cat was removed from the situation (“Young man, you are GROUNDED,” said the vet tech as she carried him off into the cats’ off-duty room) & all was calm again, except for the part where Tom still wanted to start shit.
[Major Tom, a big grey tabby, stands just outside a sturdy wooden door. His head is lowered to sniff at the gap underneath, and his tail is caught mid-lash.]
Fortunately we were called back to the exam room just after that, thus distracting Tom more than I was gonna be able to on my own. He explored the exam room thoroughly before settling on a comfy spot …
[Tom is laying at his ease on a green countertop, back resting against the wall, pale belly showing. Around him, some of the detritus of a vet’s office — a big jar of peanut butter, a stethoscope, a box of tissues. His ears are forward, alert.]
… & a nice wash.
{He’s got his head turned, trying to reach to wash his shoulder. His tongue is stuck way out.]
Loiosh was perfectly pleased to stay in his preferred spot, except for when he was briefly removed for his exam & bloodwork, & then he went RIGHT back there, THANK you.
[Seen from above, Loiosh is meatloafed along the top of the cat stroller, tail curled around one of the handles.]
Tom, in the meantime, got bored waiting for Loiosh’s bloodwork to be done, & wandered around a bit more before inevitably stealing my chair.
[Tom’s laying on a black folding chair, one forepaw tucked beneath him.]
… that’s just how that goes, though.
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