Have You Ever Tried Giving a Pill to a Honey Badger?

Ok, so as you can see from the title picture, she’s actually a cat. She’s Abigail, a cute little ten-pound harmless ball of fluff. That’s no honey badger. Well, honey, let me tell you, most times I'd agree but try cutting her nails or giving her a pill. This cute little ten-pound ball of fluff would rip the nuts off a lion and eat a cobra for breakfast. She's not only as ferocious as a honey badger; she's as strong as a crocodile and as slippery as a greased pig. You try giving her a pill. Please, I’m begging! Somebody help me!

I usually delay the task of trimming her nails as long as possible, as I know well, from previous experience, what I'm in for. It had been about six weeks since our last battle, and she was getting her claws stuck in everything. It was time. I sobbed uncontrollably with the realization that I could delay no further, reluctantly retrieved the bottle of Gabapentin (sedative) that the vet had prescribed (he knows she’s a lunatic) and took a deep breath. I put on my bravest face and hazmat suit and plucked her out of her cat bed.

Round One

When I first picked her up, she seemed happy enough and was even purring. HOWEVER, when I laid her on the couch and attempted to wrap her in a blanket, all hell broke loose. I had my Mom hold her in place while I tried to wrap her. She fought like a rabid badger while letting out such horrendous blood-curdling screams that, had anyone heard, they would have sworn I was slaughtering her, and she was doing her best to convince any listeners that I was. I swear I even heard her howl “POLICE, POLICE."

I attempted to force her mouth open to insert the pill while still trying to wrestle her in place, but when her head spun a full revolution, and she snarled, “DIE BITCH,” in a voice that sounded like it came straight from the bowels of hell, it was time to let her go.

Watching her hide under the dining room table, giving me the death stare, convinced me that it was probably best to leave her be for a while. Abigail was far too agitated, and I was far too exhausted. I made the decision that I would try again the next day, assuming, of course, that she wouldn't murder me in my sleep that night.

She soon sensed that I had accepted defeat and relaxed on the couch in self-satisfaction, relishing her victory, and the knowledge that I was the loser.

Abigail – 1, Cathy – 0

The next day inevitably came, and I had to make another attempt. She was pretty frisky early in the morning, so I decided to give her some time to settle down. When I saw her sleeping on the couch, I figured I could sneak up on her and get the job done before she even knew it happened. Great idea, right?

I stealthily crept to the kitchen, popped open the pill bottle, and just as silently snuck back to where she was lying on the couch, confident that she had no idea what was happening. Needless to say, my naiveté was surpassed only by her razor-sharp hearing.

With a sinking heart and near tears, I was once again confronted with the fact that I had another battle to fight.

Round Two

I quickly grabbed the blanket that lay beside her and threw it over the top, careful to make sure I had a good grip this time. My Mom once again tried to hold her in place while I attempted to pry open her jaw (wishing I had a crowbar) and stuff the pill inside.

After several battles, with much writhing, thrashing, and screams of “MURDER, MURDER," I achieved success. Yes! She swallowed! I let her go, and she ran immediately under the table, once again, giving me the death stare, or the “I HATE YOUR ROTTEN GUTS” stare, I’m not sure which.

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Two hours later, it was time to check if my adorable little ball of fur was sufficiently sedated:

C: Hey Abigail, How are you feeling, honey?

A: The itsy, bitsy spider went up the water spout. I grabbed him with my claws and stuffed him in my mouth. Hahahahaa. I’m a rock star.

Ok. She was totally baked. It was finally time to get the job done. I picked her up, and she immediately flopped onto my shoulder like a rag doll. I have to admit; I don't like giving her a sedative, not just because I struggle to get the pill down, but because of what it does to her. That said, I couldn't help but laugh when she attempted to bite me during the nail trim but didn't have the strength to do so. After the trimming was done, I laid her in the bed, where I knew she would stay for at least the next six hours.

That gave six hours for me to relax, knowing I had about six weeks before we had to go through this battle all over again. Six hours for me to try to figure out an easier way to get a cat to take a pill, or better yet, get her nails cut without having to give her a sedative at all. I had time to inquire how I could legally buy a tranquilizer gun (yes, I’m kidding, or maybe I’m not), and if all else fails, time to do some in-depth research on how to perform an exorcism. Before any of that though, it was time for me to say a prayer to the gods of Gabapentin, and pour myself a stiff drink.

Cheers, Abigail!