All of my readers’ good thoughts evidently did what was hoped: Portia’s visit to the doctor went well.
My new girl behaved politely and wasn’t in the least combative. She has come a long way since her first week with me. She was weighed; de-wormed (a pre-caution: she probably didn’t need it); vaccinated; given a micro-chip, as well as physically examined. Portia is reckoned to be between eight and ten years of age, her heart and lungs sound healthy, her belly feels good. Her only problem is that her mouth is suffering from some tartar, and a couple of teeth will need to come out. A dental procedure will be scheduled, but this need not be immediate.
When Portia came home, she was let out of the carrier and neither ran nor hid. She retired to the sitting room and cleaned herself. Soon after, she was enjoying dinner with the rest of the beasts. She seems to have decided that the Cosy Apartment is at least better than a veterinary hospital.
Aside from her teeth, Portia’s claws need cutting and, considering she is still growing accustomed to me touching her, I had hoped to tell the veterinary staff to perform the task of trimming, but I forgot. Since everyone’s good wishes succeeded in helping Portia’s doctor’s appointment go smoothly, perhaps similar thoughts may be directed toward improving my memory. That quality, however, may be beyond salvation…