Balls

On Friday, Clyde did not become a man. Me, Sophie and Matt (well, less Matt) decided that Clyde needed to be neutered. Personally, I think that there are far too many unwanted animals in this world without people like us adding to it. And Lord knows Clyde is keen to go forth and multiply. Heres hoping that his partner on the estate is male otherwise we could be too late. I am not sure how we can deny ownership of any kittens should they be born as I imagine Clyde's genes will be pretty prominent and they'll come out with horns.

Clyde was not allowed any food after his dinner on Thursday evening at 7.30. This is probably not a problem for some cats. For Clyde, we might as well have been torturing him with endless kisses and hugs. To make sure he didn't go and eat slugs, worms, or another cat from the block, we also had to lock the cat flap. Lock and barricade. It was a very ... trying evening.

In the morning, he was pitiful. It was heartbreaking watching him pad after us, curling round our legs, pointedly staring at his bowl, miaowing. All I could think was, IT IS FOR THE BEST, IT IS FOR THE BEST. But I couldn't look at him. He got into his carrier with minimum fuss. He was pretty weak after not eating for SO LONGGGGGG. Luckily his appointment was at 8.30 as there was no way I would be able to deal with him longer. I would have cracked. I would have had to call the vets and cancel his appointment due to pathetic puppy dog eyes and whimpering. And that would have ruined my bad ass image. Ahem.

When we got to the vets, he was seen immediately. I think this is because his crying was making grown men weep. We have been slightly worried about Clydes weight. Worried that he is being fed by the crazies.
Me: Do you think we should put a note on his collar that says, please don't feed me, I have a medical condition?
Sophie: What condition? I'm a fat bastard?
So I asked the vet what she thought. She said that, though he has DOUBLED in size since he was last weighed (like, a week ago) he is at an ok weight for him. But don't let him get any bigger. Seriously, if we let him get any bigger, he would be calling the shots round ours.

When it was time for me to leave him, the vet picked him up. He was so weak from lack of food that he put up no protest. She waved his little paw at me and said, goodbye. I was all, I have got to leave before he is stripped of any more dignity. Clyde does not WAVE GOODBYE. His terms of affection are a little nibble on your elbow skin. THAT is how he shows HIS love.

I got the bus home. I walked down the drive. There was no little bell ringing as he streaked past and into the house for food. There was no miaowwwww miaowwwwww miaowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. It was all very sad. I did the cleaning. Some washing. Had a nap. In barely any time I received a call from the vet saying all was well. That the operation had gone well, that Clyde had come round and had eaten some food quicker than most dogs. She said, he is clearly a very . . robust cat. If there was a prize going out for euphemisms, that vet would have been raking them in.

I went and picked him up. When he saw me he started purring. I gave him a hug. Put him in his carrier and took him home. The vet told me to feed him small amounts as soon as I got in. When I gave him a 10th of a Whiskers packet, he nearly took my eye out. I was also told to keep him inside until the following afternoon. I think Matt kicked him out around 7am on Saturday. I was all, still sedated and drowsy my arse.

It is safe to say he is fully recovered and is no less a cat than he was before. And is LOVING his freedom. No more cat flap curfew. Clyde is free to roam all night. Although, he is always back in time for his breakfast at 5am.