declaw.

Poor Goose. I thought that it would be easy to drop him off at the vet this morning for a declaw seeing that I have been begging John to agree with me to do it since the 4th of July TWO (almost 3) YEARS AGO, as well as the fact that he has destroyed our drapes, couch, chairs, bedskirt, duvet, screens, throws, and wood furniture shall I go on?!, but BOY oh boy was I wrong.

Per doctor's orders, we had to keep Goose off of food from 6:00 last night on. This is when he first began to pull my sympathy chord. Feeding Goose human food at dinner has become a bad habit for John. I truly believe that this, along with "laser time," is the highlight of our little white kitty's day. Last night was no exception—as we sat down for dinner and American Idol, Goose laid upside down between John's feet and looked at each of us with those pitiful green eyes. Then the meows began. The nudging. The rubbing. THE HUNGER. I almost contemplated going to bed after dinner to avoid the temptation. What can I say? I'm a pushover. But, I stood my ground and Goose went to bed hungry and woke up hungry.

This morning I woke up early to spend some extra time with Goosie man (a.k.a. attempt to justify for what I was about to put him through). I loved on him, turned the tub faucet on for some water play time, loved on him some more, let him chase around the laser, loved on him some more, let him sniff around the pet carrier, gave him a big whopping kiss, then shoved him on in.

Laser play time.

"You smell familiar."

"VERY familiar."

"But, I'm pretty sure you were a lot bigger when we were first introduced."

"Wait a minute...THE PAW! The last time that I entered this thing, I came back missing a digit on this paw! Oh the horror...and the pain!"

"Mom, I'm not sure what you're planning on doing, but please don't make me go back in there!"

 It wasn't as easy as it sounds.

Goose put up a fight.

I won.

I fell off my high horse as soon as I looked in the carrier at those heart-rending eyes of his.

"I refuse to look at you. You horrible human."

"Must. Use. Head. Strength. Get me out of here!"

To top it off? He didn't make one peep. This is highly unusual for Goosie, as he can't go more than a minute (except for when he is sleeping) without belting out a MEEEow. And he continued to not make a peep from the minute I picked up the carrier to the minute the vet came into the lobby to take him back for surgery prep. How sad is that? I would like to think he was just taking it all in, too amazed to speak, but I think that he was traumatized. Scared.out.of.his.mind. Poor buddy. The last time we took him to the vet, he came back with a cast on his paw, sans digit (not sure what happened. I do know that we ended up with a hospital visit and whopping bill as a result). Oh yeah, he also came back sans man parts. This time? Sans claws. It's no wonder...

"Turn the car around...please, Mom!"

When I got back in my car after leaving the vet, I started bawling. I know he is just a cat, but I feel awful! I will be first in line Sunday to pick him up...and he can expect unlimited treats when he gets home.

Bye bye, front claws.

At least my furniture will be thanking me.