When I was in high school, my grandparents found a stray cat. It was very friendly, very social (to the point of walking up to my parents’ dog and rubbing on his leg affectionately with absolutely no hesitation), and very, very round.

My grandparents were hesitant to adopt a cat, but this one was just a real sweetheart, so they started putting food and water out for it. They were adamant that it would not be going inside. Their resolve lasted for about two weeks before the cat had a bed inside the house.

But as I said, this cat had an extremely girthy midsection. Grandpa decided to take the cat to the vet to find out when the kittens were due.

The vet was nice enough and gave the cat a thorough exam, pronouncing it to be roughly four years old and in good health, but proceeded to look Grandpa right in the eyes and say:

Vet: “Your neutered male won’t be having kittens any time soon.”

I am a small animal veterinarian working mainly on dogs and cats. A client brings in her dog for growths on the elbow. She is given an estimate for exam and diagnostics, including fine needle aspirate and cytology. After a brief exam, I determine that the “growth” is a benign process called a hygroma. I explain this to the client.

Me: “Typically, we refrain from putting needles into hygromas as you can seed infection that way. You just need to change his bedding to something softer and the swelling should resolve.”

Client: “Aren’t you going to poke it and make sure that’s what it is?”

Me: “I certainly can if you’d like.”

I poke the swelling. As expected, fluid consistent with hygroma fills the needle hub.

Me: “It appears to be consistent with a hygroma. As I said, if you change his bedding—”

Client: “Aren’t you going to look at it under the microscope to make sure?”

Me: “I certainly can.”

Microscope findings are consistent with my diagnosis.

Me: “Yep. It looks like a hygroma. Change his bedding and the swelling should go down.”

Client: “Thank you so much, doc!”

She then proceeded to throw a fit over the cost of the fine needle aspirate and cytology that she demanded to be performed.

CONTENT WARNING: Pet Cancer, Death

Our fluffy white cat, Mr. Blizzard, has been battling skin cancer for over six months. Due to his age, other health problems, and the aggressiveness of the cancer we’ve decided to keep him happy and comfortable for however long he has.

The bleeding tumor on his nose has grown large enough that it’s causing obvious pain and interfering with his breathing. We take him to the vet one Monday to discuss Final Arrangements and see if they can give him anything to make him more comfortable for a couple of days while we prepare to say the final goodbye. The great white floof gets a shot of something to help his pain, and we leave.

On Thursday, we return with our beloved cat for the last vet appointment. The staff all visit to say their goodbyes to our kitty boy, and there are tears in the vet’s eyes. He spent a lot of time there during his life, so the staff know and adore him. As we’re waiting for the sleeping drugs to take effect, the vet tells us how much they love our mini white lion.

Vet: “[Groomer] was really upset when we told him about Blizzard. He really loved the big guy. Remember when he was here for that major bowel surgery a few years ago? For the first day, he looked like he’d given up. I was worried we’d lose him. But then, [Groomer] declared, ‘Mr. Blizzard is not dying!’ and marched into the back. [Groomer] petted him and gave him a pep talk and spent a lot of time with him. Mr. Blizzard was perky and eating by the next day, ready to live.”

We’d never heard this story before. We knew the bowel issue nearly killed Mr. B but didn’t know how much extra effort had gone into caring for him. It was a sad day for everyone, but it helped to know just how loved our kitty boy was by everyone at the clinic. Mr. Blizzard crossed the rainbow bridge surrounded by his family and friends.

I work for a pet groomer at a veterinarian. We have one client with a Pomeranian who is, to put it honestly, the most vicious and unmanageable little s*** I have ever worked on. She hates everyone, including her owner, and will bite and scratch and try to snarl at anyone that touches her.

Our vet informs us that there is nothing psychologically wrong with the dog as far as they can tell (she isn’t a rescue with a troubled history); she’s just an a**hole.

Over the years, I have gotten used to working on this little turd, so I am the go-to groomer for her. I don extra-thick gloves and wear thick fabric on my arms to deal with the little monster.

The owner is usually present to try to calm her down, but it doesn’t do much as I trim the fur and brush what’s left.

Customer: “You’re so good at handling [Dog]! I know she’s a handful, but I do love her in her own weird way.”

Me: “I totally get it. She’s cute when she’s not… well… doing this.”

Customer: “How are you so good at handling her?”

Me: “I used to be a waitress at a family restaurant near a church. Your dog is nothing compared to an entitled grandma who just found out we ran out of potato salad and wants to speak to the manager.”

Customer: “Oh… oh, my.”

Me: “They snarled more, too.”

I work at a veterinarian clinic, and we have just sold the practice to another veterinarian, so we sent out letters informing our clients of the change. A pet owner comes in infuriated.

Pet Owner: “I can’t believe you’re trying to sell my dog! I’ll call the cops on you!”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s the clinic that’s being sold. We have no rights to sell yours or anyone else’s pet!”

Pet Owner: “I don’t trust you! I want my files shredded so you can’t find where I live!”

I was never happier to go on lunch and hand a customer over to a manager! When I came back from lunch, the pet owner was gone, but the sound of shredding could be heard from the office.