RiverBender Blog: Getting My Cat to Trust Me

I recently took my cat to the vet, and it was harrowing for us all.

I will say right away, my cat — Astronomer, or Murr for short — is okay! He had a weird scab on his tail and he needed some yearly shots. It was basically a checkup.

I might’ve overreacted to the scab thing. But I was concerned! So I called and made him an appointment with one of the most highly-regarded veterinarians around.

You see a lot of people talk about how millennials and Gen Z folks treat their pets like their kids. This is usually said with a scoff, like, “C’mon, seriously? It’s just a cat/dog/parrot/whatever.”

And that might be how some of y’all feel, but I will take whatever ridicule comes my way, because yes, this cat is my baby. I would do anything for him. Fork over a couple hundred bucks for a vet to check a scab? Yeah, sure, whatever he needs.

I got Murr in late January, and he came to me as an anxious older cat who had spent the last several years living in the shelter. Since he came to live with me, he has become a playful, loving kitten who seeks out cuddles and enjoys playing with a ball with a bell in it at 3 a.m. He’s thriving, is what I’m getting at. I’m so proud of him.

He’s also learning to trust me. As he’s an older cat, there’s no training him to be comfortable with car rides; that ship has sailed. So he’s already scared when he gets shoved into a cat carrier and taken for a car ride.

So far, he has ridden in the car with me a couple of times, most notably to come home from the shelter and then again when we moved. Both were alarming, I’m sure, but he also learned that I go with him wherever he goes. He learned he doesn’t get abandoned.

I coaxed him easily enough into the cat carrier. Murr is perfect in every way, but he’s also a little dumb (I say this affectionately!). As such, he walked right into the carrier when I waved a treat in there, totally forgetting every traumatic car ride that came before.

The ride to the vet was depressing, though. Murr meowed the entire time. He was begging to be let out of his carrier. I cooed at him and stuck a hand in there to pet him. I tried to explain to him that this hell was to help him. No dice.

The vet’s office was nice and clean and featured several other animals in the waiting room. Murr quieted considerably when he saw the dogs. I held him close and carried him into the exam room when the time came, then let him out of the carrier so I could gently push him onto the scale for the vet tech.

He stared at me, obviously betrayed, but still trusting. We are mother and son. As he curled back into his cat carrier, hiding from the vet tech, I pet him and he even let out a little purr.

The vet herself was kind and gentle with him, walking me through everything she did and taking the scab seriously. We praised Murr together and cooed about how sweet and soft he is. And then the appointment was over, and I took him home.

The poor baby. When I set the carrier on the floor of the living room and opened it so he could step out, he stared around at the house like it was a trick.

We’re really home? he seemed to be saying. You’re keeping me? Murr came from an animal cruelty situation and stayed in a few foster homes before eventually being in the shelter for a couple of years. I don’t think he’s used to being kept.

But yup, I’m keeping him, he is my baby, and we are best friends. I told him so as he rolled around on the floor and let me pet him, getting reacclimated to our home. “You’re mine,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere. Wherever we go, we go together.”

That’s the truth of the matter, and I’m happy to say Murr is once again settled. The trauma of the vet has been forgiven, and he’s back to his lovey, cuddly self. He is perfect. We’re in this together.

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