Murphine the Mean

Okay so let's continue on with the story of Murphy.


(For Murphy Part 1 - Click Here)


In the first few months I had Murphy I was a nervous wreck. I had never taken care of anything before besides Sam and I only had him for two weeks tops.


I guess you could count those fish that freak out when you put a mirror up to them? What are those called? I don't remember, but I went through a couple of those as a kid.


Other than that no pets.


My Murphy was a hand-full.


First it took her several weeks to learn how to clean herself. I don't want to explain why (and you'd thank me for that) but I was forced to her to give her baths. The very thought of this makes me cringe just thinking about it. It sounds cruel but it was necessary, I promise. Thankfully my roommate's cat, Tink gave Murphy the 411 on cleaning up and that problem was solved in no time.


Things were really starting to settling down with Murphy and it came time to take her in for her shots.


On the day of her first vet visit, I put her in the car with me in the front seat. Fastening my seat belt, I looked over at her in my passenger seat. The little ball of of fluff looked so peaceful perched in the seat and for a moment I imagined she would be just like any pet I've ever seen in a car (in the movies I've seen).


Okay, I may have pictured her more like a dog in my daydream. I have no idea why....


My daydream went something like this:


The moment I would pull the car out the drive, Murphy would jump up with excitement. She would be so ecstatic she's chase her tail in a circle for a few seconds. Then she would give me that look and I would say "alright Murph" and I'd push the button for the window. The window would slide down and Murphy would jump up with her back legs on the seat, front legs on top of the car door. She'd stick her head out the window, her whiskers blowing wild in the wind, tongue flapping in her face. Her eyes sparkling. Every now and then she would glance back at me and I would smile and she would smile...okay I realize this is impossible.


This is not at all how it went obviously. Because cats can't smile and Murphy's not a dog.


The moment I started the engine. Every muscle in Murphy's body tensed. Every strand of black and white fur straightened and pointed out in every direction possible. She jumped to her feet and arched her back. Her face stricken with terror. Eyes wide with fear.


: (


Okay I thought after starting the engine, Murphy would settle down. But this was not the case. As I drove down our street, Murphy threw her body ALL over my car. She was like a ball in a ping pong machine. Thank God I had the good sense not to put the window down because she would have shot her body right out of the window. She was a loose canon.


To anyone driving next to me, I would have looked like I was grasping madly at the air. Murphy was too fast for my hands. She was on my head, on my head rest, in my rear window, in my front window, on my shoulder, on my steering wheel, under my seats....oh yes and under my brakes (this was pretty tricky braking, I mean, without squashing her).


She howled this heart wrenching cry. Over and over.... and over again. This really crazy cry for help could have mistaken for a wild animal had I not known the source.


I don't know how we made it there in one piece, but we did.


When I finally pulled up into a parking space at the vet. I thought the worst was over. That she had gotten it out of her system.


She had not.


I pulled my visor down and attempted to fix my disheveled hair before going in. I took a few minutes to collect myself before getting out of my car.


Scooping my trouble making Murphy up, I carried her inside. Nestled in my arms you won't have recognized her as the holy terror that just ransacked my car only a few moments ago.


I put my hand on the door, pulled it towards me, and stepped into the rush of cool air conditioned veterinarian office air.


I'm not sure how much time passed, maybe seconds. It seemed like a millisecond.


All I know is that I had Murphy in my arms when I walked into the vet and when I got to the front desk, she was on my head. Yes, on my head.


Claws marks all up my arms, claw marks on my neck, claw marks on my scalp. Not to mention all the ones that were already there from the car ride.


I heard snickers from some people seated in the waiting room with their well behaved cats and dogs. I looked nervously around me, embarrassed of course, because try as I might Murphy wouldn't budge as I attempted to pull her off. When I managed to get her claws out of my scalp I brought her back down and tried to nestle her back in my arms.


And she was back on my head.


There was only so much scratching my arms, neck, and head could take before I decided I'd let her stay up there. I balanced her with one hand.


How did this look?


Well, I looked like I like a woman going to the well with my ceramic jar on my head, only my jar was Murphy and my well was the front desk of vet.


Walking up to the counter, I felt like I also looked like the moron who didn't think to put her cat in cat carrier.


The woman said, "You know, you could have brought her in carrier." I didn't have the heart to say anything. I just nodded my head.


I filled out paperwork all with Murphy clawed into my head and when I was done several vet people helped pealed her off of me and took her back to get her shots.


As I sat there in the waiting room, I thought, Well it's not soooo bad. If that's the worst I have to deal with having a cat. Can't be that bad.


Ha. If only.


To be continued...