By Natalie Voss
My childhood cat, Tom Kitten, was generally a nice guy. He considered himself my home tutor (evidenced by his tendency to sit on textbooks) and happily cuddled on the couch with me in the evenings. That’s what we told everyone at the veterinarian’s office where he was unwillingly examined each year. Despite his wailing, growling, and flailing, the (wisely) leather-gloved veterinary technicians patiently soothed him through the process every summer. Read more…
