Fixed Cat

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1190 Virginia Ridge Rd.
Philo Ohio 43771 USA
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The cat had grown from kitten to adolescent, as cats and humans are apt to do. And as with all creatures, this little ball of fur----who to this point had only been interested in chasing loose shoelaces and the occasional sock----now turned his attention to more lusty pursuits.

Actually, "pursuit" may be overstating things a bit. Since we never let the little beast outside the house, his daily "pursuits" consisted mostly of sitting in front of the window for long periods of time and being terminally grouchy (but anyone who has ever raised a teenager can read these signs without a roadmap).

But unlike dealing with a teenager, we had a remedy, which was to get the cat neutered (although, again, anyone who has actually raised a teenager may be sorely tempted...). So we made an appointment at the veterinarian and it fell upon me to play Judas and deliver Christopher J. Cat to his rendezvous with destiny. Fortunately, I don't much like the little demon, so it didn't bother me a bit.

Now, anyone who has ever been in my position knows that somehow, someway... the animal knows what's about to happen. How, is anyone's guess, but, trust me, they know. I don't have a clue how cats found out they were about to go to the Vet's before the advent of the Internet, but I suspect Christopher logged into a kitty-cat chat room during the middle of the night and confirmed his fears (I noticed paw prints on the keyboard; and later that month I discovered $312.46 was charged to my Visa card for Purina liver snacks ordered from Cat.com).

Anyway, as I drove to the vet, Christopher just sat quietly staring at me as if I was about to... well, as if I was about to do what I was about to do. Disconcerting to say the least. When we finally arrived, the vet asked me to sign several release forms. Considering that back on the farm we used to turn a bull into a steer with something that looked like a rusty pair of bolt cutters, this seemed a bit bureaucratic. But what the heck, I would play the game.

The first form asked if I wanted to pay $35 to run a test to see if the cat was allergic to the anesthetic they would be administering in order to operate.

"What happens if he is?" I asked, already calculating that the cat couldn't possibly be worth $35, let alone the cost of neutering on top of that.

"A positive result would indicate that the procedure might kill him, so we won't be able to operate," came the educated response.

"And how much is the operation going to cost?" I asked, fearing the worst.

"Forty-two dollars," she responded, much to my relief...about the cost of an aspirin tablet at our local hospital. Next time I get sick I'm going to the vet instead of the doctor. They're a lot cheaper and their waiting room smells nicer.

"All right, let's just skip the test," I answered after pretending to weigh the decision carefully in my mind. "Besides, if the cat doesn't get fixed, I don't want to bring it home anyway, so either way I come out ahead." (Did I mention that I really don't like this cat?)

Now let's pause here for a second. Just a word of advice. Never joke about something like this when you are surrounded by a roomful of women who have devoted their lives to the care of sick animals, not to mention the three or four elderly matrons clutching Fifi and Snookums (who apparently had itty, bitty tummy aches). Anyway, it got real quiet, real fast. If I had thought Christopher's stare was bad, I could now literally feel the hair on the back of my neck being burned off as I turned to read the second release form.

"That one is for pain medication," the vet said helpfully through clenched teeth (she wasn't going to let me off the hook too easily). "We don't give it to them unless you request it." Now it was my turn to be outraged. Given what we were about to do with this cat, I would have thought that pain medication came as part of the standard package. I quickly signed the form. "No" to the test and a major league "Yes" for the 10 bucks to cover pain medication. It might just be a male thing, but $10 seemed like a bargain.

Well, as fate would have it, the operation went just fine, but the pain medication almost killed poor old Christopher. It seems that cats really don't need it (something I will go to my death bed refusing to believe), but there you are.

And as with all things, time has performed her healing magic. Christopher is fine now, although he still sits and looks out the window for long periods of time and is terminally grouchy... but now he has a valid reason.

So next time you see your cat stretching and yawning in a warm patch of sunlight and you ponder life's cruel ironies... wistfully wishing to trade places rather than brave the rush hour traffic to your 8:30 a.m. meeting, remember that in your cat's world, coming of age is a problem that can be easily "fixed"... and pain medication is considered an option. The price of Utopia can be heavy indeed.

written by Jay Warmke - March, 2001

Not Every Problem Should Be Fixed... Just Ask My Cat