Control the Population?

I had Rococo spayed today. I have been dreading this, and subconsciously I think I procrastinated as long as I could. The phone call from H a few days before I returned home to Chicago told me I could wait no more. Rococo had gone into heat. I would return home to a horny and yowling kitten.

So, I made the appointment. I'm sure it looks worse because of the swelling, but I feel like a butcher. I can't believe I put this darling little creature through such an ordeal. LOOK AT HER STOMACH! If a human woman went through this, she'd be in bed for weeks.

There has got to be a better way than this.

And to think, they asked if I wanted to have her DECLAWED at the same time! Sure, slicing open her belly and removing her reproductive organs isn't enough. Let's amputate her fingertips while we're at it!

Rococo has been hiding in the back of the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom most of the afternoon and evening. She was unspeakably ornery while the anaesthesia was wearing off, but she appears to feel better now. She even came out long enough for me to snap some pix.

But I can't hold her, I can't console her, and worst of all, I can't explain to her why this had to be done. And I swear that those baleful little cries from underneath the sink, and that LOOK in her eyes are indicating that at this point, she would rather like to know why herself.

And honestly, I can't think of an answer, other than the inconvenience of her being in heat and perhaps leaving a few spots of blood on the windowsill or my duvet. She's an indoor cat, living with another spayed female cat. She would have to get through three metal doors and a flight of stairs to reach the outdoors and a sperm donor.

I know that this is the responsible-pet-owner thing to do, And I'm sure in a few days I will feel better when I see that she is feeling better.

Moreover though, I have to keep reminding myself that this is a necessary evil. Rococo came into my life because some thoughtless and careless pet owner did NOT have his cat spayed and she became pregnant. Rather than deal with the unpleasantness (and expense for that matter) of this ounce of prevention, this beneficent individual's pound of cure was to tie up his cat's litter of kittens in a plastic bag and discard them in a Chicago dumpster. Someone heard their cries and rescued the survivors, including both my Rococo and Zibby's cat Hunney.

So, mutilate your cat, or inhumanely discard a handful of unwanted living creatures. This tonight is the lesser of the evils. I know this. Even though right now I don't think I could feel any worse about it. Rococo will be herself in a few days, and will live many happy years. Her sisters and brothers who died in that plastic bag never had that chance.