Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Three-Week Countdown to Spaying
I have so much to tell you about Christmas. Hiking the Bruce Trail and momentarily thinking the dog had gone over the falls. Spooking the people of Orangeville with what few may have recognized as It Came Upon A Midnight Clear. A whooooole lotta wine.
But I can’t really think straight right now. I feel like I need a big handful of steel wool to scrub my brain clean.
There are things I wish I didn’t know about pet ownership. Event after event, I'm forced to know these things. I’ve had to educate myself at light speed about diarrhea and earwax and spraying. Ripped dewclaws, torn ears and skunkings. Every month or so, I have to do something to my dog that involves Vaseline and rubber gloves and a whole lot of paper towel.
Yeah.
But tonight was a first and, God willing, a last. We came home from our wonderful Christmas to a kitten in the serious throws of her first heat.
Oh. My. Freaking. Lord.
Boomer was growling like… a cat in heat (there really is no simile for it). She was wrapping herself around anything that looked like it might be male. Kiwi looked like he wanted to commit suicide.
“We gotta do something about this,” Trevor said, extracating Boomer from his face.
I found the solution online. I don’t think you want to know. I’m sure as hell going to pretend I don’t know.
Only know that the following is 100% true:
The cat orgasm that follows this procedure is something the likes of which I have never seen elsewhere. It is a wriggling, leaping, moaning dance of ecstasy that defies any experience of pleasure my mind can even begin to grasp. If humans had orgasms with the intensity of a cat serviced in this way there would be no such thing as war, hunger, capitalism or God.
Now, where did I put that steel wool?
posted by Working From Home Today
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