About seven or so years ago, we had to take our cat, Tigger, to the veterinarian because of a urinary tract blockage. He had to undergo surgery which necessitated his spending several days at the animal hospital. My wife, Annie, visited him everyday. She loves cats more than anyone I know.

Just about the same time that Tigger went in for his operation, the veterinarian took possession of a cat which had been caught living in a barn in the foothills of the Berkshires. The cat, a predominantly white calico with a multi-colored tail, yellow eyes and a black spot the shape of Australia covering half its face, was being held in a cage across from Tigger's. The door of the cage holding the calico was draped with a sheet and bore a sign which read "Wild Cat." Annie inquired about the cat and was told that since being brought in, she had bitten the doctor, as well as her assistant. Even in light of this knowledge, and the stern warnings listed on the cage, Annie would visit with the calico on each trip to see Tigger. She would draw back the sheet and open the cage, bravely inserting her arm and petting the supposedly dangerous beast. She was never scratched or bitten.

Seeing this, the doctor saw an opportunity for the wild calico to have a home. She guaranteed free shots and spaying if we would take the cat. She was even so gracious as to throw in a free pet carrier for good measure. And so, when Tigger was finally well enough to come home with us, so too did the calico.

Annie named her "Baby," a name which normally suggests innocence and sweetness. The funny thing was, neither me, nor my son, Brian, were ever able to get near Baby. She lived under our bed and would only emerge when Annie was home alone.

Baby spent nearly all her time under our bed. The only time I ever saw her was when the lights had been turned out for the night and she would jump up onto the bed and lay next to Annie. If I tried to reach over and pet Baby, her extra-sensory perception would kick in, and before I could even get close, she would jump down and run under the bed again. The same was true for Brian, who rarely saw her and could only pet her when Annie was holding her. Even then, Baby would vigorously struggle to escape Annie's arms. She truly was a wild cat.

As the years passed, Baby's demeanor remained unchanged. Annie was the only one who could approach her. Brian and I couldn't get close to her, or reach under the bed without risking serious injury. I learned this early on, when one day I reached under the bed in an attempt to pet her. The move was met with a lighting-fast strike from Baby resulting in my sustaining four small puncture wounds on the top portion of my hand. It was a mistake I would not make again.

And so, Baby had sort of an agreement with Brian and me. She would leave us alone and we would leave her alone. That's exactly what we did, until one particular day when it became necessary for us to capture her so that we could bring her to a fire station where they were inoculating pets at discounted rates.Ôtwo of us alone at home with Baby. Annie called from work to remind me that Baby had to be brought in for the shot. I protested, arguing that we'd never be able to get our hands on her. My sensible argument was overruled, and a feeling of dread swept over me as I hung up the phone. I knew it would be no simple task.

I went down to the basement and retrieved the pet carrier the doctor had given us. It had a defective latching device, but if you took the time to do it correctly, you could secure the door by inserting a small stick through the latch. I went back upstairs and walked into Brian's room.

"Bri, we have to catch Baby and bring her in for a shot."

"C'mon, dad! No way! I'm not doing it," he said, an expression of shock and fear on his twelve©year-old face.

"We have to. If we do it together, we should be able to catch her," I said.

"How are you going to do it without getting scratched?" he asked.

"Well, actually," I began, "you are going to put on these heavy winter gloves. They're padded and you should be pretty safe wearing them. I'll get on the other side of the bed and scare her your way. You grab her and hang on tight."

"Why don't you wear the gloves and I'll scare her your way?" he suggested.

It was a fair question to which I was at a loss for an answer.

"Because, Brian, I think she likes you more than me."

The argument made very little sense. Baby only liked Annie and we were both well aware of that fact. But finally, after several minutes of debate, Brian agreed to my plan.

We put the cat carrier on the kitchen floor and walked into my bedroom. Baby, who only minutes earlier had been sleeping peacefully on top of the bed, was no longer there. Again, her ESP was working, or perhaps she overheard our plans to capture her. She now lay under the queen-sized bed, directly in the center. I lowered myself onto my stomach on the floor on one side of the bed and Brian did the same on the other side. Baby looked at me and then over at Brian. A soft, high-pitched growl emanated from somewhere deep inside her.

"She knows, dad," said Brian as he slowly moved his gloved hand closer to Baby. Such a brave kid, I thought, as he inched closer. She growled louder and hissed, and with lightning speed, struck Brian's hand before he was able to pull it back.

"Ahh!" Brian yelled.

"What?" I asked, trying not to laugh. Ôdon't know about this," he said.

"Don't worry, Brian," I said as I eased a push broom gently against Baby, trying to coax her closer to Brian's side.

"Okay, Bri, now grab her when she gets close. You need to hold on to her tightly once you get her. You know how strong she is."

Baby hissed and spat loudly, and I felt the broom stick jerk in my hand when she struck it. Better the broom than my hand, I thought to myself, remembering the day she had literally nailed me.

She suddenly made a break for it, running down towards the foot of the bed trying to escape the sudden, unexplained assault on her normally safe and quiet sanctuary. She was gone. We no longer had the strategic advantage of having her contained under the bed.

"Where did she go?" I asked.

"I think she ran in the living room," Brian answered, as we sat up on the floor on either side of the bed.

We were both shocked to see Baby sitting on top of the bed in between us. Neither of us spoke as we both lunged for her at the same time, but she was much faster. Now she was in the living room - somewhere.

We went into the living room and found her behind the couch.

"We've got her now, Bri," I said. "I'm going to flush her down your way. Just grab her and hang on tight."

I began hitting the rug and the back of the sofa. Baby made a high-speed dash right at Brian, who grabbed at her and was able to hold her for nearly a second before she wiggled free and bolted through the dining room and into Brian's room.

"She's in your room now, Bri. Close the door so she can't escape again." I said.

We went into Brian's room and closed the door behind us. Brian crouched down on his stomach to peer under the bed. There she was, amidst a plethora of toys and other unidentifiable debris. Brian reached under to grab her but she backed off and out of his reach.

"I'll lift up the bed," I said, taking hold of the end of it and lifting it as high as I could. Brian lunged and grabbed her.

"I've got her!" he yelled.

"Don't let her go," I warned. Ô

I didn't realize it until right then, but I really didn't have a good hold on the bed. I was only holding on to the end of the box spring and mattress. The metal frame of the bed which had been firmly gripping the box spring, came loose and dropped onto Brian's upper back.

"Dad...dad, get it off!" he yelled.

I never would have laughed so hard if he didn't also. I grabbed the frame and lifted it off him as he managed to keep a tight grip on the struggling Baby.

We went into the kitchen and I stood the old wooden pet carrier on its end with the opening facing up. Brian first tried to lower her in rear first, but she was much smarter than that. Each time he tried to lower her in, she stuck her rear paws out on either side of the opening. Finally, we decided to put her in head first. Success! I closed the door of the pet carrier and laid it back down on its bottom. We were both relieved to finally have her under control.

We went back into Brian's room to survey the damage. Pillows and blankets were everywhere, the mattress was on the floor and half the toys that were under his bed had been pushed out in the open during the struggle.

"We'll worry about this later," I said. "Let's take her to get that shot."

We walked back into the kitchen and looked at the pet carrier. The metal cage door was wide open. I groaned in frustration as Brian bent down to look inside - perhaps hoping she'd still be in there patiently waiting for someone to close and lock the door.

Because Baby was now back under my bed, we put Plan "A" back in to effect. But that failed miserably when she escaped again and dashed through the house looking for another place to hide. Finally, after a brief chase through several rooms, she settled under Brian's bed once again.

I held the bed up again, this time taking care not to crush my young son with the metal bed frame. I'm not sure if we were getting more experienced at capturing wild cats, or if Baby was just worn out from our relentless pursuit of her. Nevertheless, Brian caught her again and reinserted her into the pet carrier. This time, I stuck a dinner fork handle through the defective latch.

We put the pet carrier in the car and drove downtown to the fire station. Baby never made a sound. We joined a short line of people with various breeds of dogs and cats. The line moved pretty fast as the veterinarian inoculated the various beasts that were brought before him. When it was our turn, we stepped up and put the pet carrier on the table in front of the doctor.

"What do we have here?" he asked, bending down to look inside.

"A fairly wild cat, doc," I said, with all the seriousness I could muster. Ô

"Doc," I began, "this is not a regular cat. This cat is wild, fast and very strong. She's been through an awful lot today and she's scared," I said.

"I understand that," he said, "but I can't give her a shot while she's in there."

There was a long pause. I looked at Brian who had been silent up to that point.

"Okay, Bri, take her out of there," I sighed, rubbing my forehead.

"Dad," he began, "I left the gloves at home. I'm not grabbing her with my bare hands."

"Okay then, that's that," I said, shaking my head. Mom's just going to have to do this herself.

Just as we were ready to pick up the pet carrier and leave, the doctor stopped us and told me to open the cage, which I carefully did. I think the doctor was actually a little bit afraid as he cautiously reached into the cage with the syringe and jabbed her, quickly pulling his hand out as I slapped the door shut and stuck the fork handle back into the latch.

We talked about it all the way home, at points laughing so hard we nearly cried. When we got home, we put the pet carrier in the driveway and opened the door. Baby shot out like a rocket, quickly disappearing around the front of the house.

"We will never have to do this again, Bri," I promised, as we walked back into the house.

Later that night, when Annie got home from work, she asked us how things went with Baby and her shot.

"Boy, mom," laughed Brian, "wait 'til you hear this!"