Trauma Day

Tomorrow’s the big day for my darling kittens: Chick (girl) and Wilbur (boy) are getting “fixed.” Glad as I am to have kittens to play with, I’m a firm believer in birth control for our feline and canine populations. There are too many animals in need of homes to allow those we catch to put more unwanted animals out in the streets, alleys, and parks of the city. My kittens were rescued from Forest Park in Queens, along with their mom Millie (already spayed since her rescue).

Nevertheless, theory and practice are disparate parts of the whole. These animals have given me so much pleasure and so many hearty laughs, I’m terrified of any change to them. I know it’s absurd, I didn’t say my reaction was rational. This month they turn six months old, a mere two months since I got them when they were far from tiny yet so little! Wilbur is now long and tall but his meow is short and high pitched – adorable. Chick is still small and doesn’t even attempt to meow – I’ve no idea what that means. The siblings and their mother meet me outside my bedroom door every morning, as interested in the forbidden space as in me. Actually I think it’s the window with southern exposure that really excites them.

Tomorrow, the boy’s procedure will be pretty simple and external, and shouldn’t create any noticeable change to his behavior at six months of age.


The girl’s procedure, however, is invasive, and I’m worried. She’s so little, she’s so cute, she’s so affectionate, she offers her belly for rubbing without hesitation. Her mother does not – OK, Millie the Mama is 2 (ish) and had two litters before her rescue and subsequent spaying, and is not as malleable as her rescued kittens. Of course, she was an adult before she was “domesticated.” Millie is an aloofly affectionate cat. She lies down at my feet in the bathroom, the living room, and chooses to stay in whatever room I’m in. I can pet her back, rub her head, nose, throat, neck, ears to a limited extent. But never the belly.

If this operation (for Chick’s spaying is an operation) is done well, her behavior should be unchanged after a few days of recovery. I’ll bring her home loopy from the anesthesia, I’ll keep her sequestered with me to be sure her brother isn’t too rough with her (which means a litterbox in the bedroom, oh joy). Not that she doesn’t ordinarily give as good as she gets, because she does. He’s already bigger than she is, but she is invariably faster and braver than he. Their affectionate natures are pretty equal and quite physical. Too cute.

I am so far from a strategic thinker that the mere thought of cutting the three of them off from water and food after midnight preparatory to the kittens’ surgery tomorrow is almost devastating. How absurd is that. No wonder I cannot satisfactorily diet.

Fingers crossed for my kitties.