This is exactly the scenario that claimed the life of our last cat.
Because the cat is perversely bonded with me, and probably homosexual, I was ordered to arrest the cat and place him in a kennel for transportation to the family veterinarian.
Somehow, he knew what was coming...
/discover cat hiding behind sofa
//coax him out with friendship
///be a fucking pack leader and snatch that shit up
"Dadfleck, get the crate and close it when I force the cat inside."
/tighten grip on slippery kitty
//lift and shove
///look down at shirt
////covered in urine
"You feline mother fucker."
Get off of that chopping board, cat.
You are not a chef.
You don't even have a toque.