Den of Spies, Part 2 of 3

They took me to the Den of Spies, where the veterinarian, Henry Kissinger, strutted in his butcher's apron and threatened to take blood and urine samples from me.

"This is absolutely unnecessary," Murray Slaughter interjected. "I mean, what's the real problem here? Nothing I can see."

Shelly said, "She's pooping outside her box, Murray. Don't you think that's a problem."

"For you two," Murray replied. "I'm so sorry this offends your delicate bourgeois sensibilities. 'Oh, no! How ghastly! A mound of shit on the floor. Bring me the Murphy's Oil Soap! Woe to me, I'll never love again!'"

Henry Kissinger dismissed Murray with a wave of his meaty hands.

"She will be fine," the blood-dimmed, vainglorious Dr. Kissinger said. "Don't worry. I do this all the time. She also needs to have her anal glands drained."

My legs buckled under me.

"Sometimes when the anal glands are swollen," he continued, "it hurts when they go to the bathroom. We'll also want to change her diet. Then you can come back in a few weeks and we'll run some more tests. But first, we have to drain those glands, Shimmy."

I passed out.