It has been a while since I Henry-posted here, but I’ve been doing a lot on Facebook. But today is a good day to Henry-post here because today was a big day for my cat-boy.
I woke up at 7 a.m. This is an unusual event for me. I often sleep until 1 p.m. Because I work at 3 p.m. (for now) and I am a slovenly glutton. I woke up this early because this was the day the veterinarian was scheduled to take Henry’s cute little balls. And man, I mean they were cute. When cats developed balls, they considered aesthetics, unlike the human male. Cute little snowy white pouchy-pouches. Who knew they could be such a problem.
So this has been hanging over my head ever since I took Henry in, what, first week of April? I knew. Eventually. One morning, I would have to stuff him into a carrier and drive him the whole five minutes to the vet, and he would have to get the surgery of surgeries.
The first plan was that my Dad (Henry was theirs before he was mine, long story) would get it done for me before I took possession of the cat. This would save me time and trouble and then I would just get a fixed cat. And after going through this now, I owe Dad an apology for even asking him to do this. I thought there was no big deal to getting this kitty-briss done. The fact is, it’s a really big deal and is why I’m Henry’s daddy for life.
Henry was a stray. He came into the warehouse in downtown Rochester where my Dad’s wife and brother’s mama works. He was skittish and hid but ended up in her lap, and she took him home. But her house had two dogs, one who which found cats to be toys, just the day Henry appeared, they had lost Anna cat to a car-icide. But they were done taking care of cats and I was ready to take care of one, even in my meager one bedroom apartment on marijuana mountain.
Henry has been full of surprises. I have taken care of old lady cats before but never a young gentleman like Henry. The vet said he gave them a lot of trouble trying to take blood today. I told them please thank your vet techs. It told them that eight times. Because I know how difficult it was getting him into the carrier this morning.
He had such a nice morning. His boy woke up early (which should have been his first clue something was up), we played with the bug, we got on the futon, he got to watch the birds in the bedroom and I lied down there with him and pettedddddd him, and then I grabbed him and forced him into the carrier and some guy cut his cute little white furry balls off.
So the vet recommends 14 days in the cone. That seems rather onerous.
But I mean, if the choice is between Henry being somewhat uncomfortable for a while, or me having to fight him on stuffing him into the carrier again in a few days because snot or green fluid is dripping from where his balls used to be, I’m okay with the cone. I need to keep him calm and even-keeled, and as such for reasons nobody cares about, I am sleeping on the futon in my living room tonight and probably for a few nights instead of in my fancy bed because I gotta keep an eye on him and because the bedroom has the best CatTV in the house.
Wow this is tough. Boy is gonna get through it and end up as Steve Austin cat. Better. Stronger. Faster.