One night, at about three in the morning, I realized that Edgar had been having urinary tract issues. I felt like a bad parent for not noticing earlier. Not knowing how long this had been a problem, I worried about rupture and sepsis. Phil and I made an appointment for him at an emergency pet clinic and went about the process of putting the champ in a box.

Usually, if I have to take the big, angry fuzzy anywhere, he goes on a harness. That night, he didn't want to be on the harness and he didn't want to be touched. Phil and I applied the "Safety First" adage to dealing with the cat and scooped him up in a pillowcase so we could get him into a cardboard box. We only use the cardboard box because the cat-carrier is far to small for Edgar (it's just the right size for Elephi) and he's more of a leash and harness cat anyways.

So, in the box and in the car for a very quiet trip to the emergency pet clinic. Oddly enough, we weren't the only ones in the area having this problem with our cats. There were four other calls that night for the exact same thing. Considering everyone lived I the area, I suspect something in the water was to blame.

They took the box o' Edgar into the back room and about two minutes later we got to hear "RRRRoRROW" "Ouch!" "Raaaaragh!" "Damnit!" And a very nice man in a white coat came back into the waiting room and asked if it was okay to knock the cat out.

"He's being a little fractious," the vet explained.

Fractious? He's a cat, not a Stan Lee villain.

"What fiendish foe has this fractious feline fabricated for fighting our Fantastic Four?"

I had images of Burgess Meredith leaning in to Julie Newmar or Eartha Kitt and asking what the "fractious feline femme fatale" thought about his latest plot to do away with Adam West.

In the end, the Emergency Vet suggested we take Edgar in to his regular vet so they could get a urine sample and do a blood test. There had been no rupture and there was no fever, so we had time.

I took Edgar over to the Skillman Cat Hospital the next morning. By then, he had calmed down a bit and I could walk him over on his harness. The women in the office were all, "What a well behaved kitty!" and "What a good cat!" when we walked in. I explained the situation and they said to leave him there so they could collect a sample. As the VA went to pick him up, mi gato nonsimpatico did his best Bruce Lee impersonation and gave a one-inch kick to the assistant's solar plexus.

She wheezed and dropped him. He dashed under a cabinet.

I fished the little monster out and handed him over with the warning, "Watch out for those back feet." That was 11:30 in the morning.

At 6:30 that evening, seven hours later, The Amazing Edgar had not peed for the vet. Considering the office closed at 7PM I had three choices:

• Leave the animal there overnight (expensive and stressful for him)
• Take home some "Lab Litter" (plastic granules that don't absorb) and bring in a sample—an impossible task considering we have two cats, one litter box, and limited space
• Have the vet draw a sample though a needle

I drove over and as soon as I hit the door, the VA was asking if it was okay to anesthetize the cat. Remembering the episode at the emergency clinic—and the mean kick he had given her earlier that day—I told them it was fine.

Two minutes later, someone asked if it was okay to give Edgar his check-up and shots while he was under—so we wouldn't have to go through this again in two weeks. I said okay.

I spent about ten minutes looking through the vet's photo album while they did whatever they needed to do with the cat. Afterwards, they brought him out in a box of their own. I peaked in to see how he was.

"Oh hey," I noticed. "He's still got his harness on. Let me go ahead and...."

"DON'T OPEN THAT BOX!" Four women rushed at me with looks of panic.

"Riiight," I backed away from the box. "What happened?"

Here's what went down:

1. VA#1 goes to the back room to get Edgar out of the cage he's been sitting in for seven hours.
2. Edgar, tired of confinement, runs along her left arm and does a push-off from her left shoulder, ramming her head against the cage door.
3. While VA#1 is recovering from seeing stars, VA#2 tries to pick Edgar up.
4. Edgar puts a hole in her right hand.
5. Fully recovered from her mild concussion, VA#1 backs the beast up against the fridge, assisted by VA#3.
6. Edgar teleports five-and-a-half feet to the top of the fridge.
7. Knowing that the cat can only jump down, VA#1 and #3 reach up to scoop him off the top of the fridge.
8. Edgar defies the laws of man and nature and flies to the other side of the room to a seven-foot cabinet on the other side of a nine-foot room.
9. Sensing the unusual, Head Vet declares this is a fantastic opportunity to test the hospital's new cat-catching device.
10. After breaking the cat-catching device, the tip of one of his teeth, and two toenails, Edgar hides under a surgery table until someone trips over him.
11. VA#2 returns from dressing the wound on her right hand.
12. All four women grab a paw and throw Edgar into the gas chamber where he quickly falls asleep.
13. The Head Vet draws the urine sample, gives Edgar his shots, glues the broken toenails, and puts him in the cardboard box they have on hand.

I took him out to the car and took him out of the box. Then I cuddled him and told him what a good kitty he was.

I brought the box back in. The hospital staff had been watching from the window.

"You sure know how to handle him."

They didn't charge me anything for the cat-catching device that Edgar broke and gave me his pills. Mild infection, nothing serious. Give him half a pill every eight hours and "Do you think you can get a pill in him?"

"Yeah," I explained. "I'm bigger then him. I have thumbs and a forehead. I'd be ashamed as a human if I couldn't get a cat to swallow a pill."

The VA (who Edgar had kicked that morning) handed me the bottle of pills. She made note of the cat's name. "The Amazing Edgar. He certainly is. We only have three others who are that fast, but they aren't that strong or that quiet."

"Quiet?"

"Oh yes," she explained. "He was deadly quiet the entire time. He didn't even growl. It made him hard to find at one point."

"Oh?" I was trying to stifle a laugh.

"Actually," the Head Vet asked. "Would it be okay if we used him as sort of a...training animal? You know, whenever we get someone new, or if there's a new holding device. I mean..."

"...If you can hold Edgar, you can hold anything?"

"Yes," she answered a little nervously. "He's an excellent training kitty. Anyone who needs to learn how to handle a disagreeable..."

"Fractious."

"...A fractious animal, well, they'd certainly learn after handling him."

I thought about it. "Would this mean he'd be getting free check-ups?"

"Uh, I suppose. We'd defiantly know what is temperature was."

Now, how can you resist a sales pitch like that?

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