My basket is placed on the table and the grill is opened. The Chief Minion encourages me to come out – nope, not on your nelly. I squash myself at the far end and wait ready to bite any hapless hands that may be inserted inside my refuge. Eventually the basket is upended and I slide onto the table, my paws leaving sweaty prints on the shiny black surface. The V-E-T strokes my back whilst they chat inanely amongst themselves. I hear the words diet – dreamies – faeces encrusted anus – sore bottom among others.  I take a moment to survey the room; it looks familiar with lots of equipment and has a strange, medicinal smell. I am scooped up and carried over to a metal tray – the V-E-T is pretending to not be able to carry me inferring that I am perhaps over my ideal weight. They both laugh but the Chief Minion looks on anxiously as my weight is recorded, 7.2kg – same as last time and she looks relieved. I have not had any Dreamies for months now, I feel as though I am practically fading away without my quota of delicious treats. He holds my head firmly and peels my lips back to look at my teeth, I show him my fangs – all three of them but I am unable to put them to much use as he has me in a vice-like headlock. He moves away and picks up a long, pencil shaped object from the side. Without as much as a by your leave this is inserted where the sun don’t shine – how rude!! The Chief Minion looks slightly embarrassed on my behalf and gives me a kiss on my temple telling me what a good boy I am; I repay her with a venomous spit. I am most unimpressed so far and I eye the door hoping for it all to be over as soon as possible. I hear a kerfuffle behind me and something sharp sticks in neck – luckily I have a most impressive scruff, almost lion-like so I am not unduly perturbed by this and the V-E-T gives me a ruffle looking pleased with himself. The basket appears and I dive in, the door is placed back on and we head out into the waiting room. Whilst the Chief Minion pays I survey the other poor creatures who must be waiting to see the V-E-T. A snooty grey Persian looks beseechingly at me and I give her a sympathetic chirrup for encouragement whilst all the stupid dogs bounce around looking gormless. Canines are a far inferior species. Relieve washes over me when we get home and I prance my way to the kitchen, sitting by my dining table – surely now I will be served my tea. I yowl loudly as the dish is presented – TUNA, a rare treat indeed, almost makes going to the V-E-T worth it (but don’t tell the Chief Minion I said that)…