This morning, I sent my kitten off to be neutered, as evidenced by the scratch marks on my shoulder. Hubby, who really, really didn't want to, agreed to take him in to the vet. I carried him out to the truck. All was well until I tried to shut the truck door. Smoky leapt into my arms, digging his claws into me with a panicked look I have not seen since the kids tied his leash to the front of the baby's stroller to make a cat-drawn carriage.
Now, I understand why pets must be spayed and neutered. I have seen firsthand the results of people's carelessness. In fact, Smoky is one of those results. At least if our neighbors had taken "Gilbert" in to get neutered, they would've found out she was a girl. Anyway, in my brain it makes sense. Unneutered males = unwanted kittens. I even read the other day that fixing your pets will make them happier. Okay, maybe it's just me: I can't help but personify my pets. Would a guy really be happier if you gave him the old snip-snip without his permission? Not buying that.
Still, it will be nice not to have to keep Smoky inside all the time. He's been sitting by the window, listening for passing females. Every now and then he's been looking at me like, "Come on lady, let me out. I gotta get my groove on." When I let the dog out, he's been right there, trying to sneak past. I know what's on his mind. He isn't fooling me. And I know what needs to be done.
But I'm not going to ask him to be happy about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment