We have come upon a case of a Very Difficult Cat. This cat hates us. When we enter the apartment he hides, and if we try to dig him out of hiding he hisses and spits and growls and yowls.
This is not new for us - we take care of loads of nasty cats. I don't know what causes their attitude problems, and I don't know if they behave this way when their parents are at home, but we have lots of cats that hate us. We just feed them, clean their litter, check their plants, ignore the kitty and get the heck out of there. Once I was even cornered by a cat. He chased me into the bathroom, wherein I slammed the door in his face and promptly scooted out the door to the master bedroom.
But the Very Difficult Cat, you see, he needs the insulin. The insulin for the food processing and the living. So we can't ignore Very Difficult Cat because if we did, he would probably die. Or at the very least go into some kind of coma. (SB suggested it might not be so bad to let him go into the coma - at least then we could touch him without losing part of our arm). When I met VDC for the first time, his owner gave him his shot very quickly, after sneaking up on him, but then he was just a normal lovable cat. He let me pet him and everything. But now, as soon as he hears us coming up the stairs he hides. And then we have to dig Very Difficult Kitty out of his hiding spot, while trying not to lose an eye (we have at least purchased some protective gloves, because that first day was hard on my arm....) and inject him with his insulin. This is a two-man job. On the weekend SB helped me, and it was quite an experience, which I will describe at a later date.
Every visit (twice a day) as we go up the stairs, I ask SB "Do you want to wrangle or shoot?" He generally would say wrangle, and then after donning the gloves and preparing the Blanket of Terror (we lay it over kitty as a gentle restraint, but when he sees it coming he tries to kill it), he says, "aaah, I think I wanna shoot." And then we have to switch, and VDC gets all worked up while waiting for us to kill him, aka give him life-prolonging insulin. Generally he will pee at us as a last line of defense. Awesome.
All of this makes me think of how we would be as parents. I think we make a pretty great team - poo makes me vomit, but SB seems okay with it. I don't mind being bitten or scratched, and SB has a winning smile. I picture us trying to change a diaper on a squirmy toddler. Me gagging, SB trying to grab the feet. I think we have good instincts, but may have to fine-tune our technique a little. Hopefully we could teach a kid not to hide behind the toilet when it's time for their Triaminic.