Tip Little and Poodle Murphy are at the vet’s today having their nadgers removed. I’m feeling rather traumatised about the whole thing (although, to be fair, probably not as traumatised as they are).
It was bad enough having four mental cats trotting around after me all morning, demanding food, which they weren’t allowed in advance of the operation. Then there was the anxiety over the very questionable sturdiness of the cat basket; there were parking dramas and payment problems - the vet, who sounds like Morgan Freeman, wanted the money up front but all the cashpoints were busted up. I had to traipse the length of the Bethnal Green Road. By the time I got the fat wodge of cash and made it back to the surgery, Tip and Poodle were shaking like little black velvet sacks of terrifiedness. When the vet said, “You won’t forget to pick them up, will you?” I nearly burst into tears. Yeah, like I won’t be worrying about them every minute all day.
I do feel a bit bad for the kitten boys that when we first all got in the car to drive up to there, the Tom Waits song that just happened to be playing was “I Know I’ve Been Changed”. I wonder how long it will be before I can listen to that again without thinking of cat castration…
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