Last summer my husband found a kitten living under a van and brought it home to join our assortment of barn cats. She is a fine little calico kitty: She clings to your neck like a baby if you lift her up, and she loves to play with our young dachshund.
How could anything possibly go wrong? Well, before daybreak the other morning, which is usually my quiet time (I feed the dogs and sit down in the dark with a cup of coffee to pray), my younger son woke up terrified.
"Mom, Mom, what was that sound?"
The sound was the terrible wailing of a cat going into heat. Sure enough, when I went outside, the "baby" cat emerged from the barn wailing and posturing like...well... like the star of a really tasteless music video.
Where I live, which is very country (as we say around here), folks don't get their animals spayed. They get them "spaded." Hearing this always brings to my mind a picture of someone hitting a wailing female dog or cat over the head with a shovel, which I suppose would deliver a message something like this: Snap out of it! Forget about this crazy impulse and stay in the yard!
My husband contends it is time for me to get a "What's Happening to My Body?" workbook and go through it with the kitty. I contend it's time for him to start taking her to "True Love Waits" classes. He is stalling. Really, of course, it's time for another trip to the vet, which we will take as soon as I get paid at the end of the month. True love will only wait so long.
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