So the cats were looking puny. The boy-cat had been treated for a urinary infection a few weeks back, but I suspected the girl-cat was having the same problem and made her an appointment. Then, I noticed the boy-cat wasn't using his litter box as he should so I called the nice lady at the clinic who said, "Bring him in, too."
We loaded them both up in one carrier and went to the vet's office. Once inside the examining room, my boy-cat, who is always a gentleman, came out with a feeble meow of protest and a reproachful look at me, got looked at, gave his sample, and yes, his infection wasn't completely cured.
Then the vet reached into the crate for the girl-cat.
Such hissing and screaming and unsheathing of claws I've never seen!
Evidently, the vet had. He hopped way back and said, "Oops. She's a little anxious." Then he looked at me. "Maybe you'd better try to get her out."
So I soothed her, reached in and got her. But she was still unhappy at her predicament, hissing and threatening, making the poor vet very cautious in catching her by her scruff and holding down her back end. Once he got his sample, he put her in the crate with the boy-cat and jumped back while my guy slammed the door.
He wiped his forehead and looked at the crate. "You know, he's got to be thinking, 'What! You've made the bitch mad and now you're putting her back in here with me?' I bet she takes it out on him, and he didn't do a thing."
And she did, hissing at the poor boy-cat all the way home like it was his fault, not even giving him a chance to protest he hadn't liked being handled either. Once out of the crate, he hid for the rest of the day while she stalked around and muttered to herself.
I hate taking them to the vet. I don't think the vet likes it either.