Some time back, we made appointments for a low-cost neutering for Tiger Tom Kitterling, resident stud cat, and his adolescent son, Roscoe. Young Roscoe went under the knife as scheduled, but Tiger, perhaps preternaturally sensing his impending castration, vanished on the morning of the surgery. He reappeared a few days later, bursting with health and virility, then vanished again before the sun was high in the sky. His strategy appears to be to not stick around long enough to be carted off to the vet.
This morning he showed his rakish orange tabby face again. This time we trapped him under the laundry basket (the cat carrier being inconveniently stowed in one of the cargo containers on another part of the property). Flushed with triumph, I called the vet’s office.
My triumph was short-lived. Time has run out on the low-cost neutering, the tech says, but the program will be run again on the twentieth, and do I want to make an appointment for him then? Well, this is only the eighth, and a lot can happen in twelve days. I got off the phone with the tech and tried fruitlessly to track down a voucher program that might enable me to nullify Tiger Tom’s reproductive capabilities and still leave something in the bank to pay the gasoline bill.
I think we have some razor blades in the first-aid box…