Posts Tagged ‘adjustment to being castrted’

Story – FAT CAT

Friday, March 23rd, 2012

My cat is fat. The cat used to be a he but is now an it. He has been deballed, neutralized, neutered, fixed, castrated, altered, changed, sanitized, synthesized, de-catified. No wonder he got fat. Under such circumstances, anyone would tend to get depressed and over-compensate with between meal snacks of mice-meat and sparrow heads.

Imagine being pushed into a carrier bag, zipped up in it, transported and manhandled, and upon being unzipped, exposed in a foreign shiny environment, where some stranger promptly sticks a sharp object in the hind quarters — and before a cat can shriek injured dignity and utter shock — the world turns all dreamy and it’s time for a long, unsought catnap.

Upon awakening, the world remains incredibly woozy and wobbly with something missing. Imagine the first time you as a cat bend round to clean your privates, licking tenderly to clean with care. The cat suddenly is certain something essential is missing. He looks up to stare off into some cat half-distance, mystified eyes calculating, recalling. He bends to lick again to make sure that what used to be there is no longer snug and tight and two, right there as usual. He needed those two tiny round objects to give a certain heft to his yowls, leave his smell, mark his territory, make frequent hot cat-love.

Now that will no longer be possible. Never, never, never, never, never, as Shakespeare wrote for King Lear to say. And like a more mild King Lear, my cat is in the grip of an astonishing disillusionment and barely contained depression.

When I let the cat out into the back garden, I watch it disappear into the gathering gloom. He does not run, he still slightly wobbles. He’s edgy and uncertain. There’s less of him, and he knows it. He’ll never be all there nor as big and brave as he once was. From here on out, he truly deserves all the night-time mice-meat and scraps of excitement he can hustle.

Photo: Rights lambertwm