Worming the Cat and Dog

Once again it’s Saturday; the day when footy reigns supreme. The Dogs are up against the Cats, the premier favoured team, but I’ve got no doubts the mighty Dogs will surely cope with that. I couldn’t think of nothing worse than being beaten by a Cat. But then I am reminded by the one who reigns supreme, when she reads out the date that will affect me footy dream. It’s the day our Cat and Dog must have, or so my wife confirms, their little pill preserving health to stop them getting worms. Now this simple operation should only take a tick or two for the tablets are just tiny things, so there should be no ado, but at times our Cat can be cantankerous for reasons of its own and because today the footy’s on, all reasoning has been blown. The blasted Cat would not cooperate and then threw a hissy fit, when I cradled it just like a baby, and expected it to sit while I applied some pressure so it’s mouth would open wide, and with my other hand that’s free I’d easily pop the pill inside. But the pill was knocked out of me hand and rolled across the floor while the Cat scarped across the sofa and then hid behind the door, and even though I had it cornered I could tell things were not right when it spat and scratched me arm to win this battle in the fight. I retrieved it from the bedroom, and with more force put on a grip with its front paws held together, and pushed down tight into me hip, I forced its jaws to open and then popped the pill inside its gob and clamped its mouth; counted to ten, then watched the tablet lob - - into the blasted goldfish bowl, and saw the Cat scarp up the hall, to hide somewhere on a wardrobe with its back hard against a wall, so it’s time to gather re-enforcements with two tablets wasted now, and with my wife to back me up we’ll get the tablet down somehow. I wedged the Cat between me knees and with its head just sticking out, I made sure its claws are disengaged because its growling left no doubt, when my wife pushed a funnel in its mouth and with the pill to follow. I rubbed its neck quite vigorously, now the cat will have to swallow. I eyed the Cat up on the curtain rail until I’m handed the third pill, and with the torn lace through the curtains my wife had lost the will to maximise a healthy Cat because of damage scattered everywhere, with figurines and vases now in pieces, and are way beyond repair. It appears we must get serious, and so the Cat is wrapped up in a towel, with just the head and ears appearing, and we can ignore its howl. I placed the pill inside a drinking straw, but before I got to blow, the bloody Cats’ one step ahead, now there are answers I should know. Are these pills harmful to humans? Do they have some side effects? Does it hurt to mix with alcohol? Do they dissolve when stuck in necks? I had to drink two cans of beer to try and take the taste away. My wife’s wrapped up in band-aids and furious with lots to say. For there’s blood stains on the carpet from deep scratch marks on her head, and now I’ve got permission to search inside our neighbours shed, where I dragged it from a rafter and shoved it in a hessian sack, and while carrying the Cat back home I mused a new plan of attack. Into a cupboard goes the Cat, and with the door closed on its neck, there’s just its head poking out so I’ll have it fixed up in a ‘sec,’ and with the fourth pill in my left hand, and some pliers in me right to prise the Cats’ mouth open wide and so at last I’ll win this fight. But for now I must forget the Cat while I replace the cupboard hinges, and use my whisky so to disinfect; which is a double dose of cringes, then check my tetanus records just in case I may need another shot, and replace my T-shirt torn to shreds - then find I’ve been put on the spot. A car swerved into a neighbour’s fence to avoid the Cat that chose to flee. Now the fire brigade is here to help because the damn Cats’ up a tree. And once the scene was cleared up and with the Cat back home alive, it growled and spat at me in anger when I held up tablet number five. But before I made me final thrust, I needed courage that’s in beer. And after half a dozen full strength to this Cat I made it clear, that I won’t take any of its Tommyrot, and my threat is not a fable, so with hay band wound around all paws I tied it to the dining table. And wearing heavy duty garden gloves I took to the bloody Cat; forced the pill down in its throat and then some raw steak followed that, before I poured near half a gallon of water down the mongrel’s throat. It’s a wonder that it didn’t drown but the cursed Cat did stay afloat. I drank whisky from the bottle when being driven by my wife to outpatients where a doctor will revive me disappearing life. I need stitches in me fingers and me forearm, and to regain me sight, they must remove the remnants of the pill that shot me in the fight. We need to buy another dining table to replace our splintered one, and the Cat’s about to find a new home for the damage that it’s done. So there’s not one once of pity for the Cat I’d love to dearly flog, but that stays in the background ‘cause it’s time to worm the dog. So with a sixth pill in me hand the Dog has begging eyes on me, but I don’t need grief the Cat gave us so used a simple strategy. I wrapped the tablet in some bacon; the Dog wagged his tail and spun, then I tossed the bacon high into the air - now all the wormings’ done.