Caturday: Bear Makes His Stand
I knew what was coming. The carrier appeared — that wide‑mouthed contraption that means vet . I don’t need to see the suitcase or hear the car keys. I can smell “boarding” before the humans even think the word. I am Bear. Large. Fast. Capable of a ten‑minute mile when properly motivated. And I do not go quietly. My human may think she’s in charge, but she has to catch me first. The last time I made my move, she chased me around three corners, across the yard (folks said they saw a flash of grey followed a split second later by a flashing blur of flesh--that ten-minute mile), and caught me mid‑leap as I aimed for the fence and the neighbor’s Great Danes. She called it “saving me.” I called it “interference.” So, when she brought out the carrier this time, I spread‑eagled. No entry. No surrender. But the sport‑pet carrier has a wide opening, and she’s quick. Before I could protest, the door clicked shut. Fine. If I must go, I will go on my terms. Thirty minutes of protest followed ...