If you follow me on Twitter, or you occasionally peek at the embedded Twitter feed here on Erindipity, then you know that on Monday, I took Smeagol in to get neutered. I did this for several reasons.
- Unaltered pets are obnoxious to be around during mating times.
- They pee all over anything that doesn’t move.
- Sometimes, they even pee on things that do move. Things like me.
- I refuse to contribute to cat overpopulation.
- Neutering Smeagol makes my sons nervous.
Ok, so the boys aren’t really worried about losing a portion of their man business, but they pretend that they are and this amuses me. A friend of mine refers to the process as “getting his pockets picked.” Smeagol now has something in common with these tourists.
He despises his rather nice cat carrier. It zips out so he can have lots of room once he gets to be a fatty and it has padded panels that go in it for his comfort. You’d think he’d be a little more grateful. I thought perhaps I could pet his head, but no. No, he tried to get out. I’ve never been so grateful for a red light so I could shove him back inside the carrier.
The people at the clinic were nice. I filled out his paperwork, paid the fee, and left him there for his surgery. I won’t lie, I worried about him while he was gone. Complications are rare, but they do happen and I didn’t want them happening to my little buddy. When the time came, I went to pick him up. They gave me a list of instructions to follow and a number to call if there were any issues. I don’t think anyone told Smeagol about the instructions, though. He ran. He jumped. He was desperate to play with me, and when I wouldn’t play with him, he play attacked me. He wouldn’t stop licking his surgical site. He didn’t like that I put his toys on top of the dresser, so he went up there and got them back down. One toy has been completely plucked. Another time, I found him sitting in my kitchen sink. Despite all of his activity, he seems to be doing well. He hasn’t ripped anything out and it doesn’t look like there is any infection.
Even when he annoys me, I wouldn’t trade my kitty for anything. He’s my precious.