That has been my experience too. It's near impossible to get the cat in the
carrier at home, but at the vet's, all they want to do is GET BACK IN THE
CARRIER. Don't know if they are even thinking of going home, just finding a
safe place away from prodding hands and needles.

Well, last summer I told the story of how I was taking one of the
feral cats down to be neutered. He was estimated at 6-8 years old, and
was totally wild when I had started feeding him a couple years
earlier. Unfortunately, he had once been accidently trapped, and had
learned to avoid traps. Fortunately, though, over time he calmed down,
and let me stand nearby while he ate, and even accepted a few pets.

Then one day it happened. Poor guy, all he knew was that one minute he
was eating, the next the horrible hoomin (me) dropped a towel over
him. Before he could escape he'd been put inside a box. Then he was
inside a roaring monster. When the monster stopped roaring the hoomin
took him into a strange place where they put him in a cage and
wouldn't feed him or let him have a drink. Next day they took him out
and did unspeakable things to him until he fell asleep. When he woke
up he was hurting and back in the cage. They finally gave him some
food, but he was afraid to eat or drink anything. Another night
passed, since the vet didn't get around to doing the snip job until
late afternoon, and felt it better if he stayed the extra night to
recover.

I showed up as soon as they opened to pick him up. The lady at the
front desk, who as it turns out ran the non-profit neutering clinic,
called the back to say bring up the black and white feral ex-tom (this
was before he had a name). I watched as a girl took my carrier out of
the storeroom and took it to the back. Then I heard a very unhappy cat
swearing, telling the poor girl that there was no way he was going
back in that blasted box. I watched through the little window in the
door as second person went back to the room where commotion was. More
cat swearing, Rocky no doubt asking, with volume cranked all the way
up, which army was going to make him get in that box.

Everybody else in the waiting room was looking at the back where all
the racket was. I swear if it had gone on much longer some of them
would have grabbed their pets and ran out the door. I pretended
ignorance and started reading the posters on the wall. When the phone
rang I tried real hard not to notice the lady at the desk looking at
me as she said she'd be right there.

She obviously knew how to handle stubborn cats (since it's a non
profit clinic the first couple people may have been volunteers without
much experience with demon cats). Within a mintue or two after she
went to the back she came back with my carrier. Rocky continued his
tirade, still at full volume, about what he was going to do when he
got out.

When I got him home he forgave me almost immediately. I guess he
figured I came back to rescue him from that terrible place. He's come
a long ways from that time, but I'm dreading the day when I have to
take him for his annual checkup and shots. Let's see, maybe I can get
JD from upstairs, and Lyle from the next building to come over. If we
trap him in the bathroom, maybe we could....  Hmmm, better have an
ambulance and some EMTs with transfusion kits standing by....