Tuxedo Boy has Check Up


The results I compiled from a recent study show that nobody likes going to the doctor.
Super heroes are no different.
Our very own Bark Man for example, the world's oldest cape wearing canine, answered my question with a resounding, "NO!"
And then he repeated it several times and would not stop until I gave him a Dingo Dyno Stick.
I hope this year we don't have to spend the following week writing an apology letter to Doctor Amy once all his drugs wear off.
But today we are focusing on Bark Man's little brother.
It is Tuxedo Boy's turn.
He is still young so there is a chance he will not remember his last visit.

Well, the teenage punk may be a caped crusader, but he is still curious as a cat when a crate appears out of nowhere, especially if it smells of Cat Lady, the furry old thing that lives down the stairs on the other side of the door, in an assisted living apartment.
The one he likes to bully.
Her grandma scent of jasmine perfume is the reason I was able to lock the gate behind his ass once he walked inside.
It had to be done.
But this simple task took place after a long and anxious morning.
I was fearful that he might smell my fear as he lay curled up in the box on top of my desk, while I typed away.
He managed to hold me captive in my room and was also able to keep the old fur ball downstairs where she belongs, just by sleeping like a baby.
The dude had already thrown all of us off schedule by coming right back inside after breakfast on such a gorgeous morning. This caused the wheels to go into motion and Cat Lady had to be carted back home right in the middle of sipping her treasured bowl of milk.
Squawking could be heard through the registers as Tuxedo Boy dozed right in front of me with a contented smile.
This in turn had Bark Man snoring with satisfaction at my feet.
God forbid I might have to get up to pee.
Number two would have destroyed the entire operation.
Because if the tranquility of the moment were to be disturbed and Tuxedo Boy were to wake, there would be one long stretch, followed by pure chaos after a few treats were had and the kitchen door did not swing open to the outside.
Tuxedo Boy does not do well with behavior that denies him of whatever the hell he would like to do.
Especially on such a beautiful day.
We all knew he would dart out the door and disappear until well after his one o'clock slot, if it were to open.
The strange noise did not begin oozing from the crate in the passenger seat until we were half way to the vet.
This must have been when he realized he was really stuck in the box that smelled of that little old lady in pearls.
"You will be fine," I said turning on my blinker. "Just don't be like your brother. We have a bad reputation there already. The only reason they even let us in the door is because of the millions of dollars we spend. But everyone has a price."
In the waiting room Tuxedo Boy hid behind his cape and was very quiet.
Once in our private room he was sprung from prison and immediately began examining the perimeters in order to find an escape route from the second room of confinement.
The doctor walked in.
She was impressed by the stories he had to tell of his life as a super hero. How he keeps all the bad guys away from our house. How he bit the head off a snake one day and scared the bejesus out of me. How he scales trees and chases dead pan squirrels away from the bird feeder. How mice and moles cower when they hear his name. And how Cugly, the baby possum who lives in Hotel Juniper, the Stephen King like bush in our front yard, adores him.
She had other patients waiting so she eventually she had to cut him short when he started bragging about scaring an old cat.
"How about we send Tuxedo Boy with the technicians for his blood draw, vaccinations and that chip we talked about, while you wait out in front? Your invoice should be ready in a few minutes."
Surprisingly the tape did not run out of the machine that was printing off a receipt as long as my leg.
I gave them all my money and then I sat down to wait for a cat who had a lot of explaining to do about telling his doctor all of his bad habits, just to make sure he would be given every preventive medicine available in this great country of ours.
A half an hour passed.
And then a handsome young guy found me half asleep in my chair.
"Ma'am?" he whispers.
"Would it be all right if we give Tuxedo Boy a little bit of laughing gas so that we can administer his shots?"
"Is he being naughty?"
"No. We just can't hang on to him. We have been trying to keep him still and no can do. He is very strong."
And then he starts laughing like he's been snorting the stuff himself.
Ten minutes later a crate was handed to me with a glassy eyed cat and we were on our way home.
"Why is it?" I said to a ball of fur with a bobbing head. "That every time I go to that place everybody gets the good drugs?"
I looked again.
Tuxedo Boy was out cold.


For more stories in this crime fighting series, click above on Titanic Trio.

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