"What Are Those Big Balls For, Anyway?" --Macy

It all began with a much-beloved cat

that was named after a goofy-looking vampire.



The much-beloved cat had a problem.
He was bladder-control challenged.
He sprayed. A lot.
It started out once or twice a week.
Then it became daily.
And although he only ever did it in his litter box,
it filtered out into the rest of the rooms,
and soon our house had a permanent smell of ammonia mixed with death.
We could no longer take it.
An appointment was made.
You know, for a little snip snip.
(We weren't positive this would cure the spraying,
but we were optimistically hopeful.)
And while we were at it, a little claw-removal.
My kids were terrified.
Horrified.
Angst-ridden.
Although they had been the recipients of many a gaping claw wound,
they loved this cat more than anything in the world.
After much reassurance, the deed was done on Monday.
We picked him up on Tuesday.
Broken.
Humble.
Scared.
And missing a few vital body parts.
(We had no idea that neuter = castration.)
It.
Was.
Scary.
Heartbreaking.
Emotional.
His paws looked like they had been put in a blender.
His rear end...well, you can probably imagine.
His eyes were goopy from artificial tears they used during the surgery
and made it look like he was constantly crying.
He couldn't walk straight due to the sedation.
He hid under beds, something he hadn't done since he was a kitten.
He growled when we came near him.
He didn't make a peep for three days.


We had to try to keep him from licking his wounds
which proved to be impossible.
So we bought a Cone of Shame.
When we put it on, it was the saddest thing ever.
He just went limp, submitted completely.

Until we put him down, and all heck broke loose.
And it was clear he was going to injure himself more by trying to get it off.
The Cone of Shame was removed.
Finally, we let go. We let him lick. And so far it's been fine.
More and more I questioned what we'd done.
Was it really worth putting him through this just cause of a putrid smell?
Should we have just stuck with the neutering
and bagged the de-clawing?
I didn't know.
But luckily, each day gets better.
He started meowing again.
He started eating and drinking again.
He started trusting us again.
He started spraying again.

Wait, what?
He's still spraying?
And it's where this time?
In our CLOSET??!!
You've got to be kidding me.
This was the ONLY reason we had him neutered.
He doesn't go outside. Ever.
He wasn't going to be impregnating anyone any time soon.
And he's not cuddlier, as was promised.
So basically I just put my cat through hell on earth
(and as a result, all of us),
cut off the poor guy's family jewels,
and paid $170 to have him start spraying his disgusting FUNK
all over my house instead of nice and neat in his litter box like he used to.
Awesome.
Totally FRICKIN' fabulous.

Anyone want a cat?