Girl cat... you'll be a woman soon
This weekend, you couldn't breathe in my humble flat for the female sex hormones flying around. And it wasn't me, I'd hasten to add, but the cat. That's right, my baby has become a grown lady. And what a lady!
It started with some odd meowing and scratching at the door. But before I could look up 'cats on heat' on wikipedia, the formerly innocent kitten herself left me in no doubt as to what was going on. Hunkering down, she was giving me and anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity what can only be described as a very Lindsey Lohan view of her charms while tapdancing with her hind paws and purring like a tigress. Restricted to the balcony, she soon had a suitor circling below like some boho Romeo to her brazen take on Juliet
Wherefore art thou down there, Romeo?
Pole dancing Juliet - rated XXX
This all troubled me, since sterelisation of lady cats is neither cheap nor the work of a swift nick with a scalpel. I could take the cost, but what would the cat's real owner say if she found her with a big scar on her belly and a 18th century ruche collar to stop her performing unintentional hara kiri trying to scratch at the stitches?
There were other complications. The owner (I've spoken to her now, by the way - she knows the cat hangs out with me a lot, but not that I've fed her) namely thinks that she's a he - a Tomcat. I don't know how blind you have to be to think that, but there you go. Now, I can't really tell her that the bergies done it, can I? Not without kicking up a neighbourhood feud.
It was all resolved peacefully this afternoon, if somewhat sadly. Finding the real owner at home (for a change) I went over and knocked only to be greeted by a 'Hi, where is my cat? She keeps running away.' Hoping that my blush would pass for rosy cheeks on a brisk winter's day, I told Her Holy Blonde Absentee Catownerness that her cat was a she, that she needed a vet, and that she was being gang banged around the corner (which turned out to be true). That seemed to shut her up.
Alas, it also meant that She-Who-Is-Hated-By-Cats locked my baby up until Friday, when she'll go to the vet. So I won't see her until then - and who knows how long it will take her to get well after the op. Frankly, I miss her. And I know she misses me. Maybe I can smuggle her little kitty treats through the kitchen window when the Wicked Witch is away. She may hold the key to my baby's fortress, but I hold the key to her heart!
It started with some odd meowing and scratching at the door. But before I could look up 'cats on heat' on wikipedia, the formerly innocent kitten herself left me in no doubt as to what was going on. Hunkering down, she was giving me and anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity what can only be described as a very Lindsey Lohan view of her charms while tapdancing with her hind paws and purring like a tigress. Restricted to the balcony, she soon had a suitor circling below like some boho Romeo to her brazen take on Juliet
Wherefore art thou down there, Romeo?
Pole dancing Juliet - rated XXXThis all troubled me, since sterelisation of lady cats is neither cheap nor the work of a swift nick with a scalpel. I could take the cost, but what would the cat's real owner say if she found her with a big scar on her belly and a 18th century ruche collar to stop her performing unintentional hara kiri trying to scratch at the stitches?
There were other complications. The owner (I've spoken to her now, by the way - she knows the cat hangs out with me a lot, but not that I've fed her) namely thinks that she's a he - a Tomcat. I don't know how blind you have to be to think that, but there you go. Now, I can't really tell her that the bergies done it, can I? Not without kicking up a neighbourhood feud.
It was all resolved peacefully this afternoon, if somewhat sadly. Finding the real owner at home (for a change) I went over and knocked only to be greeted by a 'Hi, where is my cat? She keeps running away.' Hoping that my blush would pass for rosy cheeks on a brisk winter's day, I told Her Holy Blonde Absentee Catownerness that her cat was a she, that she needed a vet, and that she was being gang banged around the corner (which turned out to be true). That seemed to shut her up.
Alas, it also meant that She-Who-Is-Hated-By-Cats locked my baby up until Friday, when she'll go to the vet. So I won't see her until then - and who knows how long it will take her to get well after the op. Frankly, I miss her. And I know she misses me. Maybe I can smuggle her little kitty treats through the kitchen window when the Wicked Witch is away. She may hold the key to my baby's fortress, but I hold the key to her heart!
posted by Linda at 21:21
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