spay spay spay

11-11-99

I'm sleepy tonight. yawn....

I was asked to stay late at work today and cover some of the surgeries for the woman who was off today. I watched a dog get spayed. Dr. Figaro (that's not actually his name, but it's so close and so ironic—he's a vet--that I can't resist using it here) showed me how to prep the dog for surgery, anesthetizing her and restraining her legs, and then asked: "Are you okay with blood?" "As far as I know...." was my response. He chuckled, "Well, we'll find out, then."

I always thought I'd have trouble watching an animal cut open. Sick, dizzy, or at least grossed out. I was fascinated! I couldn't take my eyes off that bleeding gash in the dog's shaven stomach. Dr. Figaro showed me the ovaries and important arteries, all while discussing Michigan, music, and the inexplicable American obsession with basketball.

So, my stronger-than-strong stomach is still hanging in there. My recent heartburn issues have made me wonder if I was developing a weak stomach after all my years of roller coasters and jumping in elevators.

There's one other thing on my mind tonight. A woman brought in her cat to be spayed, and also dropped off a spare kitten. Like, oh, gee, I guess I need to have my two-year-old kitty spayed, and could you do something with this nuisance? Yes of course, you fuckup, we'll take it to the pound for you, although you should have to do it yourself, you irresponsible bitch.

The last couple days have been harder at work, ever since I realized some of the kitties I feed daily are shelter cats. I thought they were adopted and were being checked out, so I was all happy, but it turns out they're just getting fixed and then they're going right back to the pound.

I nearly fell in love with a tough old tiger cat named Thomas O'Nalley. He had this wise, cynical look and he spent the whole two days' visit in one corner of his cage, not messing up his litter tray or spilling his water like the selfish, fluffy-headed pet-cats did. My first day, I stuck my arm into the cage and gave Mr. O'Nalley's head a scratch. He purred, nuzzled into my fingers and rolled onto his back while I scratched him. He knew I wasn't taking him home. He was just happy to get the unexpected attention. When I had to leave he curled up in his corner and winked at me graciously.

I know the tiny gray tabby kitten that was left with us will get a home. We separated him from his mother last night, as the mother was going into surgery. It broke my heart to come in this morning and see him crouched in a corner of his litter, crying pitifully. I walked into the next room and his mother was sitting there in her own cage. It's hard for me to believe that they didn't know about each other's presence.

I've been racking my brain for someone I know who would adopt this kitten. I know that if I found a home for him, I'd just have a harder time finding a home for the next one. I'll never get over my need to save things. John says I'm the type of person who should be doing the job I have, but I don't know how long I'll be able to do it. Not without becoming even more bitter and cynical than I am.

For Christ's fucking sake, neuter your pets. Oh, gee, the kittens/puppies are so cute. I think they're cute, too, only I see them behind bars. Or starving, unwanted and feral on somebody's farm. Or squashed on the road. Some people think it's cruel to neuter pets, like it's unnatural. Which is more unnatural: a happy, healthy, loved pet, or the millions of animals that are euthanized each year?

The stress of an 8-hour day is making me preachy. You know, it wouldn't hurt for a few humans to be spayed. Human overpopulation is threatening...millions of humans euthanized each year....

Okay, is there anyone out there whom I haven't offended yet?