Our dear feline friend, Danger the Cat, (or Danger el Gato, for our Spanish speaking friends) is about to reach a great milestone in his life: castration. It hurts just to type the word. But alas, Danger has been propositioned one too many times. The visits by howling, horny harlots began before he could do any damage with his little testes. I suppose I can’t blame them for being so attracted to his charming little self—his first name is Danger after all. There was even the time when one of them came into our living room to take care of business. After I’d chased her away, I found poor little Danger cowering under the couch. Girls?!? Yuck!!
Nevertheless, every mammal reaches puberty eventually. I’m certainly glad that it will take a bit longer before my offspring get there, but I believe Danger has officially arrived. This morning, I was awoken by loud meowing outside my window. My first thought was: shut up! My second thought was: If you’re so hungry, go eat a lizard! However, when I finally got up and headed to his room with him to fill his food bowl, I found everything locked up just as I’d left it the night before (we’ve kept him locked in a back room at night since his nocturnal wire-chewing incident).
“What on earth?” I mumbled to myself. “How did you get out, cat?”
Danger refused to tell me, so I had to piece the story together myself. There are some slats on one of the windows that can be opened fairly easily if pushed, and I hadn’t quite closed them all the way. Somehow he had managed to perch on a tiny ledge, push the window open and escape to the glorious freedom of a street cat, fighting and fornicating all night along, then heading home to be fed by his humans and nap on our clean laundry. What a life.
I knew it was time to make the call, so I rang our local veterinarian. It went a little like this: “Hi, I’m Josh, Danger the cat’s owner.” “Hola, buenos dias.” Grudgingly, I said, “I’d like to make an appointment to neuter him (castrarlo).” “¿Una cita a las cuatro? (An appointment at 4?) Sorry, we close early on Saturdays.” Argh, she’s gonna make me say the word again. “No, to castrate him.” “Oh, okay. Bring him in Monday morning.”
And just like that, Danger’s life as a manly cat shall come to an end. I wish I’d had a camera rolling when I told Max what would happen to Danger. “So, Danger’s going to have his testicles cut off on Monday.” “What?!??!?” Max blurted out, hand covering his face in horror. “WHY???”
I explained, and he seemed to understand, mostly. One little Danger is quite enough for this neighborhood. And so we bid you adieu, dear testicles. May our couches live long and prosper, and may our ankles be safe from the interminable sneak attacks. Sorry little guy.