CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: OWNER NEEDS MEDICAL HELP AFTER CAT'S TRIP TO VET

Remember on "Wild Kingdom" when Marlon Perkins' intrepid assistant Jim would wade into the swamp and wrestle with the alligators while Marlon stayed high and dry on the sidelines?

Sometimes Jim chased grizzly bears or other predators or tried to provoke rhinos into charging or lassoed venomous snakes or something equally dramatic for the camera.

In all the years we watched that show while I was growing up, I never saw Jim perform a truly life-threatening task: Giving a domestic feline a pill.

Pilling a cat is treacherous work. Cats have teeth. Cats have claws.

Lots of 'em.

My cat, Melissa, is declawed, but that only applies to her front paws. She has a whole other set in the back that are absolutely intact.

The good news is that Melissa has taken all of her medication and has been restored to good health.

I may need a tetanus shot and my stitches aren't coming out for another week, but that's what health insurance is for, right?

The fun started when it became apparent that the cat was going to have to visit the veterinarian, which meant she would have to be put into her cat carrier.

The cat knows where her cat carrier is: In the spare bedroom, which also serves as my quote-unquote office.

In other words, she realizes I only go into that room for her cat carrier, and when she hears me in there, she hides.

This time, I had to dig her out from under the couch -- actually, I chased her out with a broom -- scoop her up and shove her into the cat carrier.

In the process, we knocked over a coffee table, which knocked over a lamp, which knocked over a bookshelf.....

Once ensconced in the cat carrier, she yowled all the way to the vet's office, yowled in the waiting room and absolutely clammed up once we actually got in to see the vet.

"What a pretty kitty," the vet crooned at her, and reached for a thermometer.

Melissa ran back into the cat carrier.

Maybe I should try that approach.

The vet decided she had an infection and handed me a packet of antibiotics.

"These'll clear it right up," he said, sounding very cheerful.

I'm not sure whether he was cheerful because he was able to cure the cat or because he wasn't going to be the one risking life and limb to poke the pills down her throat.

House pets -- cats, dogs, ferrets, pythons, goldfish, whatever -- are deceptive. They're cute and adorable and love you to pieces until some health problem arises that requires pills.

Wave a pill at her, and the adorable little dust-mop dog who sleeps on your pillow every night will turn into Cujo with PMS.

My friend Robin's Airedale tries to hide under the couch when it's time for her heartworm pills.

The dog barely fits in Robin's house, so it's not hard to find her, but wrestling with a 150-pound dog is not Robin's idea of a good time.

She thinks the dog is scared of the pills. I think the dog is scared because Robin is stomping around the house screaming, "Tiny! Come here now!"

It's all in the attitude. If you can convince the dog the pill is really a treat -- with no scent and no flavor -- you've got it made.

Cats don't con that easily. I'm not saying they're smarter than dogs; they just aren't as trusting of their humans.

And they can fit under much smaller furniture.

Peggy O'Farrell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.