I'll give you three guesses as to who bit the vet on this day. And I'll even help out by giving you two hints: it wasn't my husband and it wasn't me.
Yes, Dexter the (usually) mild-mannered Tabby bit the vet and actually drew blood. I wish I could tell you the vet was doing something truly awful and deserved it. However, that was not the case.
The vet is a very kind and gentle man, albeit somewhat unsuspecting and perhaps maybe even a tad slow in reflexes. One minute the vet was reaching out to pet Dexter's head, and the next he was suddenly saying,"Ow!" and bleeding.
Nothing awful happened next. We all apologized. My husband did. I did. And Dexter even had the presence of mind to look sorry, meanwhile attempting to crawl back inside the (closed) cat carrier to escape.
Nothing awful happened after that either. I helped round up the cat, and we wrapped him in a towel. The vet continued to behave in a kind and gentle manner. He felt up Dexter's furry bod, listened to his heart and lungs, and then gave him two immunizations.
Dexter is six years old, is in generally stunning good health, weighs 20.8 pounds, could stand to lose a pound or two (but not urgently), and is good to go now for three more years. Hooray for a positive vet visit!
With all apologies to the poor vet, of course . . . Dr. Menapace, this one's for you.
The tune: Elton John, Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word.