Written September 13, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
Today was a milestone in our household: Arty’s first big vet day. Translation? Vaccinations, a health check, and a whole lot of dramatic meowing. The good news: our vet confirmed that Arty is a healthy, thriving kitten. The less-good news: Arty believes the carrier is a medieval torture device.
On the drive over, she serenaded us with her most heart-wrenching Siamese opera. My wife, ever the cat whisperer, told me to keep petting her through the carrier door so she wouldn’t think we’d abandoned her mid-aria. If you’ve never traveled with a Siamese, let me explain: they will tell you how they feel. Loudly. For hours. (Our late Siamese, Gambi, once meowed for an entire five-hour road trip. Broadway missed out.)
My wife loves Siamese cats because of their loyalty. They pick a favorite human—like an Akita dog, but with more fur-shedding and fewer walks. For Gambi, that chosen human was me. Apparently, she’d sit on my chair meowing like a widowed opera singer whenever I traveled for work. Flattering, if slightly guilt-inducing.
Arty hasn’t reached that stage yet. She’s still figuring out her territory, cautiously exploring upstairs, but she’s clearly claimed my chair and her cat tree as her safe zones. When we run errands, I know exactly where to find her when we get home: either curled in the cat tree penthouse like royalty or impersonating me at my desk.
We’re doing our best to make her life cushy. Daily litter box cleaning? Check. Fancy air purifier in the laundry room to keep odors away? Check. Endless snacks, water, and love? Triple check.
The vet laid out Arty’s next steps: one more shot before the 16-week mark and then—gulp—surgery in a few months to prevent her from going into heat. She’ll probably hate us for it, but since we’re not running a kitten factory, it’s for the best.
Back at home, I rewarded myself with a run and some vacuuming. Fun fact: Arty is far less terrified of our central vacuum than Gambi ever was. The machine is pretty quiet since the motor is in the garage, but considering cats can hear a mouse sneeze two blocks away, I still consider her bravery impressive.
By the end of the day, with vet visit conquered and no bad news on the health front, I felt oddly victorious—like I’d just finished a boss level in the game of cat parenting. And the best prize? A perfectly healthy (and still very vocal) little Arty.