Best laid plans and false economies

Chico, being an affectionate cat, likes to lie on my chest and be cuddled. Unfortunately, he also likes digging his claws in while he’s there. My chest has started to look like crazy paving, so I thought it was time to get his claws clipped. Mishmish is a bit less keen on being cuddled, but does love to lash out occasionally, so I decided he could do with getting his claws clipped too.

I’m having a bit of trouble with vets. Whilst there are plenty of them in Cairo, many are not at all well regarded, and on top of that there’s the language issue. Initially, I took Mishmish to a lovely guy in New Cairo to have his gunky eye looked at, but every time I have tried to make an appointment since he has been mysteriously unavailable. Then a friend recommended one in Ma’adi. He turned out to be a wonderful vet. He’s clipped Chico’s claws, snipped Mishmish’s balls, and whipped out Shams’s reproductive system, as well as dealing with worms and ear mites (Shams was on the streets for a while). He also diagnosed and treated a urinary tract infection after Mishmish escaped for 24 hours and had some adventures. I feel it’s best that I don’t know the details.

The problem is that Ma’adi is a long way from where I live, so I was thinking there must be a closer vet who can deal with this minor issue. It’ll take less time and money because I won’t have to go to Ma’adi and back. I had noticed one not too far away from home, so I went on a recce. It seemed fine, and they also sold the brand of food that the cats eat. Even better, I thought. I went one day after work. As usual, both cats were extremely unimpressed to be in cat boxes and I had to listen to synchronised angry miaowing all the way to the vet.

When I conducted my recce visit, there was no-one else there, so I was rather taken aback to find the waiting room was full of dogs. Oh well, I thought, I’m here now so I might as well stay. There was a small white dog, a husky puppy, a teenage golden retriever and a tiny baladi (“local”) puppy. Each animal seemed to have at least three human attendants. The retriever, true to breed, wanted to say hello to everyone, humans and animals alike. The husky puppy and the small white dog did NOT want to stay hello back. The trouble is, in doggy language, saying “hellooooooo! Talk to meeeeeeee!” and “fuck off out of my face you gigantic monster!!!!” sound pretty much the same. Thankfully, the baladi puppy just looked on with interest and took notes for the future.

Needless to say, Chico and Mishmish continued their synchronised angry miaowing, combined with frantic scratching by Mishmish. The retriever had to say hello to them too, obviously, which at least resulted in some variety in the cacophony – a bit of hissing and yowling. Chico loves a good yowl.

At 16.52 I texted my husband to tell him that Mishmish was being really embarrassing. At 17.13 I told him I was still waiting. By 17.59, all time savings gained from not going to Ma’adi had disappeared. I passed the time by studying the other customers, who were all Egyptian. A few more came in during my interminable wait, all with Persian cats. Mine are all rescued baladi cats. There are thousands of street cats and dogs in Cairo; many of them in the animal shelters around the city. They are intelligent and full of character. They make wonderful pets if they are lucky enough to be rescued - many of my foreign friends have rescued baladi animals. So I really can’t understand why most Egyptians won’t entertain having a baladi animal as a pet. Apart from the tiny puppy, every one of the other ten animals I saw at the vet were pedigree. All the cats were Persian. Two customers with one of the Persians did show an interest in Chico and Mishmish, but maybe it was just disbelief that someone would give a home to baladi cats. It really perplexes me because I would much rather have my three than any overbred pedigree animal.  

Aggressive? Moi?

Eventually, it was our turn. I took the now even angrier cats into the surgery and told the vet what I wanted. I intimated that both cats could show some aggression when being messed with. She asked which would be easiest. I said Mishmish, because he’s smaller.

The other time Chico has had his claws clipped was at the vet in Ma’adi. It was such an efficient process that I realise, with hindsight, that I subconsciously assumed that there’s a module in vet school called “How To Deal With Angry Cats”. If this module exists, it’s obviously optional. I have never seen such a circus in my life. Mishmish did not want to have his claws clipped. First the vet and her nurse tried a towel. Then they tried this bag thing where you zip the cat up and are supposed to be able to extract one cat leg at a time. The problem is, you have to get the cat into the bag. Mishmish was having none of it. Eventually the vet called in the bloke from reception who basically pinned Mishmish to the table with a towel over his head. Success! One cat done. I apologised to the vet and said maybe I’d got it wrong, Mishmish would be harder after all. Oh how I wish I had kept my gob shut.

Did I just see claw clippers?!?

The vet and the nurse got Chico out. I realised that a fundamental error had been made; he’d seen everything that had happened to Mishmish. As soon as he was out of the box he leapt off the table. They got him back on the table. He tried frantically to get into the cat box for the first time ever. They removed the cat box. They produced the towel. He leapt off the table again, ran round the room, went under the desk and hid behind a pile of filing boxes. The vet held the cat box open and miraculously he rushed into it. Back on the table. Cat bag. They’ve got him in the cat bag! One leg out. Claws clipped. The bag is too small, they can’t get the other back leg out. They open the bag. Chico vaults over the vet and races round the room. His tail is like a loo brush. I eventually coax him back out from under a chair. The bloke from reception is called back in, along with another nurse. A further 12 claws are clipped before he escapes again. Only three more claws to go. We can do this, people. Final effort. The bloke from reception, the vet and one of the nurses basically lie on top of him with one leg sticking out. The second nurse rushes in with the clippers. Last three claws done! To prevent another escape (after all he doesn’t know they’re finished), they put the open box right next to him and he rushes straight into it, and we slam the door in triumph. We’re all drained. I apologise to everyone several times.

The vet says Chico needs to have his claws clipped more often, they were far too long. I am incredulous. She’s prepared to go through that AGAIN? How often? I say. Monthly, she says, and suddenly realising the implications, looks completely horrified.

I rush out. Pay (leaving massive tip). Go home. Let the cats back out of their boxes. The whole exercise took two hours and 25 minutes. No time saved. Five humans and two cats traumatised. And they didn’t even have any of the food! I’m going to Ma’adi next time.