My Outdoor Cat Has a Boyfriend
There’s an animal shelter about an hour away that offers discounted spay/neuter for about a quarter of what I’d have to pay my veterinarian. You have to pay up front, in cash. There are specific rules for how and when to bring your cat. If you’re even a minute late, you forfeit your money. No refunds.
It has the feel of some kind of back alley job. They tell you up front that they’re not a “regular vet.” They also tell you that there are no refunds, even if your cat dies during surgery.
No refunds ever. For any reason.
I’m taking the three female barn cats there on Tuesday. They’re going to have to be locked up in our shed (which was actually built by some long-gone homeowner to be a butcher shop) the night before as they cannot have food or drink — and I need to make sure I can find them Tuesday morning.
This has become an almost emergency situation because Mamacat has a boyfriend.
Mamacat came with the house we just moved into. The previous tenants left her and her four kittens behind when they moved out — which worked out well for Mamacat because the previous tenants are awful people. We found homes for her kittens — and I am going to make darn sure that she doesn’t have any more of them.
There’s a big, gorgeous classic tabby hanging around. I’ve named him Pierre. I don’t actually want Pierre to stay — I’ve threatened him, but he doesn’t take my threats seriously. I have threatened such atrocities as “kisses” and “belly rubs” should I get my hands on him. I have also threatened that if he keeps hanging around, he’s getting neutered. “Snip, snip,” I say, looking at him.
Pierre just stares at me. If I walk toward him, however, he runs. I haven’t made any efforts to befriend him — I need to get all the barn cats spayed and neutered before I accept Pierre as a permanent resident of the farm.
Mamacat is very fond of Pierre, and I wonder if he is the father of her kittens. I’m not sure how the others feel about him. Last night, something got their tails all bushy, and I thought it might have been Pierre. My other fear, besides kittens, is that he’ll try to run off my little boy kitties.
If Pierre has a home, he seems to never go there. We’re surrounded by fields and farms, so maybe he’s someone’s barn cat. Perhaps he belongs to one of those farmers who believe you shouldn’t feed your barn cats because they won’t catch mice if their bellies are full. That’s crap, by the way. Cats hunt for fun. But if that’s the kind of home Pierre comes from, then no wonder he wants to live with my overfed barn cats. I feed them way too much because it’s cold out — they need to be fat.
Or maybe Pierre has no home at all.
You see what’s going to happen to me, right? I’m going to feel bad for Pierre and let him stay.
