I have just recently returned from a humiliating visit to the vet’s office. There was absolutely no reason for my handlers to overreact in such a manner. It all started with my effort to perfect flying jumps. This type of training is necessary to gain the physical prowess I will need to reach my goal of world domination.
Granted, I did make a slight miscalculation, resulting in a botched maneuver that caused me to land roughly at the bottom of the stairs (from the balcony). My landing made a loud noise that attracted the attention of one of my handlers. I only appeared to be stunned and hurt, but it was only my superior ability to behave in a manner that makes it appear that I am an innocent, cute kitten. But this ruse comes with consequences, and this time it came with a trip in the car to my nemesis, the vet called Dr. Mike.
I used the opportunity to case his office and look for weaknesses. Unfortunately, my weak-minded handlers are easily influenced by Dr. Mike. They believed his hyperbolic description of my “injuries,” and allowed him to prescribe pharmaceuticals for me that dulled my superior feline abilities for a time. But this is just a minor set back.