His balls. My cat lost his balls. (Some people are sensitive about this kind of stuff. Trigger Warning: BALLS)
Since I adopted Ronan in the setting of a drug deal gone horribly wrong – dark parking lot by myself, didn’t get any drugs but got a kitten! – he has served as the gentlest, most nurturing animal that ever existed. It’s been a stressful year since the man I love had to move to Hawaii for three months (just a couple weeks after I got Ronan) and many other stressful things happened that don’t necessarily need to be said on the Internet, but Ronan has never complained. I had to give up his kitty friend Gansey (who I also adopted at the time) because he didn’t play nice with my four-year-old Ella (another cat, not a kid) which started the endless fights between Ronan and Ella, not because Ronan is an asshole, but because Ella is kind of an asshole (I love her dearly but she is), but Ronan never complained. He laid* with me every night as I cried because The Man was however many miles it is from California to Hawaii and he perched on my shoulder like a meowing parrot when he was a baby and when we moved instead of freaking out and hiding like Ella would he jumped into the window and looked at Kona The German Husky in the backyard and squeaked, as he does, as if to say, HOLY SHIT MOM WTF IS THAT.
While Ella has been through much more with me than Ronan ever could and I love her equally – albeit in a different way – Ronan is my therapy cat and I do believe that he understands that I, as a person with a serious mental illness, need him. I need his squeaky meow and the annoying way in which he bites me if I don’t pet him. I need him when he headbutts me because he wants attention and the way he gets litter all over the damn house.
On Friday, I had him neutered because that’s the thing you do when you are a responsible pet owner, right? I don’t know.
I am sure I will get over this, but seeing this sweet child of mine moping around in his “cone of shame” just guts me. I’ve barely heard his meow in three days and he just lays* there looking sad and miserable. I don’t know that it has anything to do with his balls, but I think he just hates the cone and is in pain. I have hand-fed him and given him water and medication through a syringe twice a day since last Friday, and while I’m happy to do it – take care of him like he has me – I just want him to be happy. I want to hear him pipsqueaking while he plays with his little catnip football. I want to hold him without being afraid I will hurt him. I want Ronan to be Ronan again.
I’ve gone through this many times with my pets – I’m always convinced that they are going to die from the common cold – but still. He’s my baby, and I just want him to be okay. Looking back at what he’s going through, I don’t know if I could do it again. You know, remove his balls.
*I will never get lay/laid/lie/lied/laid/lain right ever in life so sorry, people who think it’s okay to shame others for their grammar and not call it bullying. You can troll me in the comments.