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September 24, 2021
Purrfect Manhood
By Mikie Baker
The Bandera Prophet
A few months ago, a tiny black kitten came from out of the heavens into a small flower bed and found his way into our hearts. I named this almost 6-week-old bundle of black fur Sir Rod after Rod Stewart because of his rather loud meow. Since then, Rod has shredded our legs, arms, a shower curtain and a few chairs but, somehow, we still love him.
In fact, Rod has become the child My Future Husband and I never had together because when we met I was through my kitty bearing years. But you know what they say about adopted kids; you want them even more that the ones you might possibly have had.
We’ve been pretty ridiculous about it – marveling at Rod’s every move as he has grown into a full fledged 4-and-a-half-month-old monster. Unlike our other three animals, adopting Rod is the first time we’ve tried child rearing together. It’s been a pretty rough road for a couple of grandparent aged parents, but we’ve survived, though I’m pretty sure I could have gone to the ER a couple of times for stitches because of the terror tiny claws can rein down on someone’s body, meaning mine.
That’s the very odd thing about it. I’m a cat person. I’ve had cats since I was 4. In fact, I consider myself a cat whisperer. If you’ve got a cat that hates everybody, I can have that feline eating out of my hand in about five minutes. I know cat speak and cat rub. I was so excited when I found Rod because he was going to be the second black cat I had in my lifetime. The first one, Charky – short for Charcoal – lived to be 26. Every girl born on Halloween needs herself a good black cat.
Except that is, for Rod. He likes me because I feed him. He lets me rub him and he always purrs when I pick him up. But other than that, he’s totally in love with My Future Husband. And that guy has never had a cat in his life until he met me.
They cuddle. They sleep together. Neither one bites the other one. I’m just there to satisfy their every need. Unfortunately, Rod has been making a mad dash for the door lately because I think he’s starting to discover that male cats have needs, if you know what I mean.
I decided to discuss what needs to happen with his, ahem, father.
ME: I think it’s time to get Rod fixed before he does make it out the front door and tries to cuddle up with some feral female roaming the hills. I don’t approve of that kind of girl.
MFH: Yeah, I guess it is time.
ME: So, we are agreed. Well since you are his father, I think you should take him to the vet. You two can have a nice discussion in the car about all the fun he’s going to miss in his lifetime.
He fell down on the floor laughing. So much for trying to get out of it. Why do women have to do all the dirty work? Since I’m the Cat Whisperer, it fell to me to call the vet with the big news – it was time for Rod to loose his manhood.
The woman that answered at the Vet’s office seemed to understand everything perfectly. When I asked her if this was the right time to do “the deed.” She said, “The sooner the better so they will stay more kitten like.” With all the scratching he’s done on me lately, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle that…
In fact, Rod has become the child My Future Husband and I never had together because when we met I was through my kitty bearing years. But you know what they say about adopted kids; you want them even more that the ones you might possibly have had.
We’ve been pretty ridiculous about it – marveling at Rod’s every move as he has grown into a full fledged 4-and-a-half-month-old monster. Unlike our other three animals, adopting Rod is the first time we’ve tried child rearing together. It’s been a pretty rough road for a couple of grandparent aged parents, but we’ve survived, though I’m pretty sure I could have gone to the ER a couple of times for stitches because of the terror tiny claws can rein down on someone’s body, meaning mine.
That’s the very odd thing about it. I’m a cat person. I’ve had cats since I was 4. In fact, I consider myself a cat whisperer. If you’ve got a cat that hates everybody, I can have that feline eating out of my hand in about five minutes. I know cat speak and cat rub. I was so excited when I found Rod because he was going to be the second black cat I had in my lifetime. The first one, Charky – short for Charcoal – lived to be 26. Every girl born on Halloween needs herself a good black cat.
Except that is, for Rod. He likes me because I feed him. He lets me rub him and he always purrs when I pick him up. But other than that, he’s totally in love with My Future Husband. And that guy has never had a cat in his life until he met me.
They cuddle. They sleep together. Neither one bites the other one. I’m just there to satisfy their every need. Unfortunately, Rod has been making a mad dash for the door lately because I think he’s starting to discover that male cats have needs, if you know what I mean.
I decided to discuss what needs to happen with his, ahem, father.
ME: I think it’s time to get Rod fixed before he does make it out the front door and tries to cuddle up with some feral female roaming the hills. I don’t approve of that kind of girl.
MFH: Yeah, I guess it is time.
ME: So, we are agreed. Well since you are his father, I think you should take him to the vet. You two can have a nice discussion in the car about all the fun he’s going to miss in his lifetime.
He fell down on the floor laughing. So much for trying to get out of it. Why do women have to do all the dirty work? Since I’m the Cat Whisperer, it fell to me to call the vet with the big news – it was time for Rod to loose his manhood.
The woman that answered at the Vet’s office seemed to understand everything perfectly. When I asked her if this was the right time to do “the deed.” She said, “The sooner the better so they will stay more kitten like.” With all the scratching he’s done on me lately, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle that…