sadistic hell-beast of doom

I think all cats have alter egos when it comes to visiting the vet.

My adorably sweet and cuddly kitty Cleopatra becomes sadistic hell-beast of doom when she has to go to the vet. Seriously. She makes this god awful low growling mrower noise that would scare Lucifer right back to wherever he came from. The first time I took her to the vet, I had her in a carrying thing that looks like a tote bag with mesh sides. There was a man in the waiting room with me who had two miniature poodles, both of which were smaller than my 10 lb cat. For some reason, however, she found them incredibly threatening and hissed continuously until the man asked me if I had a snake in the tote bag. Seriously.

When I took her into the exam room and removed her from the bag, she promptly bit the hell out of my hand and dashed under the table. I had to put my denim jacket on my arms backwards to protect my hands from the tornado of claws and teeth as I pried her out from under the bench. It was a horrific experience.

But when she's at home, she's perfectly normal. She cuddles. She purrs. She bears absolutely no resemblance to the hell beast.

(Inspired by this post on the Amature Gourmet.)