The Cat Who Lost His Cojones

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We stood poring over the paperwork for the removal of the cojones. And so forth.

“Because there are two of them, they will keep each other’s stress levels down. It’s very good for them. Bring them in between 8 – 8.30am. Oh, and make sure,” the mild-mannered cojones remover advised sagely, “that you keep them off food from 8pm the night before.”

Gulp.

I nodded and visualised these particular cats without their little bowls of dry chow from 8pm. ย And once again, I berated myself for failing to request a full psychological assessment when gazing through the bars at two tiny helpless, furry little kittens.

A word of advice. The little bundless of fluff are also bundles of personhood. Each has its own definite sense of self. You just won’t see it for a few weeks.

And then they’ll gain the status of size and begin to rule the asylum.

My two adorable kittens are now thugs without morals. They still look beautiful but they have been exploring the possibilities of mob rule, gang warfare, terrorism and so forth. They have been attempting to annexe their empire past the floor to the table, yea, unto the working surfaces.

This last is perhaps the most disastrous. Because until I can train them otherwise, all bets are off. You cannot leave a thing unattended; Monty is not fussy, and Millie eats whatever Monty steals. They are not choosy. I saw Monty carting off a large piece of lettuce the other day.

Yet they have a natural authority. Where has this come from? Siam, the land of their forebears? Millie looks like a tiny, huge-eyed, grave lynx, and Monty has the classic Siamese gait coupled with a lion’s colouring. A killer combination.

8pm came and went. All food bowls were removed and we held our breath, waiting to see what would happen when these two regal bandits were deprived of what they required.

They went searching. Of course they did. Every time we went into the kitchen, there would be a cat, stood on a working surface with “What?” writ large in the air above his head.

By 9pm ย Monty was attempting to hump his sister. Now we could add incest to their list of petty misdemeanours. I grimaced. The next morning could not come soon enough for me.

We made it through the night, somehow. If they ate anything, I knew nothing about it. And then, I laid out the packed lunch stuff to make everyone’s sandwiches and ย left my post.

Stupid.

Next thing, there’s a cat in the middle of the kitchen floor tucking into a very large slice of roast chicken.

I dived for the remains. Monty was undeterred; he hung on for grim life to the other end of the chicken. Heave, ho, we went and what small results I got were despatched to the bin with all speed.

Half an hour later, it was a most penitent owner who walked into the vets, confessing all to the ladies behind the counter. They chuckled and consulted the vet surgeon: it was ok, they informed me. They could operate on the cats a little later.

It was with an overriding sense of relief that I left two cats in baskets behind me and headed home to a day with just the dog and I.

A crime-free Friday; a little respite. And maybe, if the cat came back without the cojones, there would be change in the air.

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38 thoughts on “The Cat Who Lost His Cojones

  1. Don’t expect much change at least as far as leadership is concerned. Hopefully the humping will stop and there should be no spraying but demanding control of every horizontal surface will remain until they die.

  2. No such luck, I am afraid. Cojones or no cojones, it makes no difference. I just bought a new printer and my young lad has been spending a lot of his energy the past 24 hours trying to get inside it. I know I will walk into my office at some point and see him emerging from the paper tray with a photograph printed on his back! Is there a printer setting for cat fur?

  3. Kate,

    The only thing I hate about the three cats in our house is when they jump up on the working surfaces (I’m guessing that is British for kitchen counter) and the tables. My daughter’s cat, Lucky, is 16 years old and is still going where he knows he does not belong. Hopefully yours will be more trainable.

    Patrick

  4. Fitting, given that I had to chase a cat off my car this afternoon. I don’t know why I thought opening the window and shrieking, “Get off my car!!!!!” would have any impact.

    I do hope Monty recovers from being made a eunuch at such a young age.

  5. Hope all’s well. Withholding food is always tricky. Ours do not pace themselves well.

    Our vet is convinced that our male cat, Jean-Louis, is still upset with her for what he’s missing. Our female, Reggie, was more savoir-faire about the whole affair. Both, however, do all within their power to avoid getting back in the cat carrier. They know the destination.

  6. They’re a lot like kids, delighting in getting a rise from the powers that be (that would be you). But you should feel honored that they deign to recognize your presence at all. (You do feel honored, don’t you?)

  7. So when Monty had his nuts lobbed off, did Millie lose her inner lady bits, too? That must keep them both subdued for at least an eight count. Meanwhile, Mac is probably looking for another dead deer leg to chew on.

  8. As I learned from the I Can Has Cheezburger site, here are three simple rules handed down from cats to humans:
    1. What’s mine is mine.
    2. What’s yours is mine.
    3. Refer to rules 1 and 2.

  9. Dito what everyone above has said. Sorry, Kate, dream on. My favorite line, amongst so many, was: “…My two adorable kittens are now thugs without morals. …” So true.

  10. The picture of you diving across to grab chicken out of their mouths is quite funny, Kate! I hope you weren’t hurt. I do seem to recall initial concern when you couldn’t get them to come out from behind the piano. I think that was their lair…they’ve been conspiring!

  11. Pippi-Long-Stocking loves human food and will saunter on the counters when we’re not looking on occasion – but seems to know she’s not supposed to be there and jumps off when she sees humans. This may be partly due to the fact we deployed the water spray to deter her whilst she was a kitten.
    The ginger chappie, however was not deterred by a water spray…. he seemed to quite like it.

    You win some. You loose some.

  12. I have to say, Kate, that I just do not envy the full time job of pets. I love them to bits and have wonderful memories….but the vet bills loom large and don’t fit too well with a pension. Hope they’re both well after their visit to the ball breaker:)

  13. Well, at least you’ve had a bit of respite. I look forward to reading about any behavioral changes you may see. In my experience, nothing stops the stealing of people food, the using of one’s furniture as a scratching post, the jumping on kitchen counters and licking up unwashed pans and dishes. But I have seen with one of our cats that we took in rather late in his life a unexpected and joyful change in disposition after he was neutered. Our Mikey went from being a bruiser (beating up any and all cats he could find) to a lover, a mellow, “I just want to be petted” kind of cat. Unfortunately he’s no longer with us, but I still enjoy holding his memory up as an example of why cats should be neutered. He was definitely a much happier kitty for it ๐Ÿ™‚ May you enjoy the same experience ๐Ÿ™‚

  14. Ah, yes. . . we once had two cute little kittens. Parlsey and Sage. Yes. Simon and Garfunkle fans. Anyways, we did not tend to either Parsley, or Sage, in as timely a manner as you, dear Kate, and for Christmas there came Rosemary and Thyme, Gold, Franken-sentence (Jennifer couldn’t say it right) and, yes, Myrh.

  15. Ah, have missed the Shrewsday mansion updates Kate! Delighted to return to find these two adorable additions, even if they seem to be driving you up the wall! All agog to see what changes, with the loss of their cojones ๐Ÿ™‚

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