I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing this week’s chapter to you late. It’s just so traumatic … I have all I can do not to break down in hairball-horking, wretched, tearful terror when I think about it. So I’m going to make this as short as I can. Thomas is here grooming me and whispering sweet purr-songs in my ear. But it’s still hard. *sniffle*

So, as you recall, last week I told you about the hole I licked into my tummy because I was so itchy, and the shame I had to endure while wearing that giant plastic cone thing around my head. And worse yet, Doctor Sarah threatened that the hole might not heal without further intervention.

I didn’t know what that meant at the time, of course. But what I did know is that every time I tried to do anything, that *hissss-spit-grooooowwwwl*ing Cone of Shame made it just about impossible. And to make matters worse, Mama was holding me down, forcing my mouth open, and pushing some kind of nasty, bitter thing so far back in my mouth that I had to swallow it! I couldn’t have spit the darn thing out even if I’d wanted to!

“What have I done to deserve such abuse?” I cried to the Cat Gods. “I’ve been a good kitty, so why is Mama being so horribly mean to me?”

They greeted my entreaties with a cold silence.

Oh, of course, Thomas tried to make me feel better, but he was starting to get pretty perturbed too: every time he tried to groom my ears, that darn collar got in the way! Once he even swatted me because the cone twisted his whiskers the wrong way. And if you’re a cat, you know just how awful it feels to get your whiskers twisted the wrong way!

(I’ve seen Mama cussing and letting her eyes leak when she hits her Funny Bone, and I imagine that when you humans hit your Funny Bone, it feels a lot like whisker-twisting feels to us.)

Anyway … Mama did her best to console me, too. She even took the Cone of Shame off me when she was awake and in the house with us. “As long as I’m here and I can make sure you don’t lick and nibble at your tummy, you can go cone-less,” she told me. “But I’m afraid I have to put it back on you when it’s time for me to go to work or go to sleep.”

And then, a few days later, Mama called … she called … *sniffle* she called the vet and said the hole in my tummy hadn’t gotten any smaller. And then I heard her say … *sniffle* … “So I’ll be bringing her in for that appointment we set up.”

Then she grabbed me before I could even figure out what was going on, and … and … *choke* … shoved me into that awful portable … portable prison!

I cried and cried, and wailed and wailed! I screamed my despair as loudly as I could! I even made a big, stinky mess in my prison box! But did Mama stop and take me back home? NooOOOOoo!

How could the person I used to love and trust so much commit such hateful atrocities against a tiny, helpless, three-pound slip of a kitten who had done nothing but give her purrs and head-bonks and whisker-tickles?

Then we arrived at the gulag. The barking and howling of gigantic dogs in the back room made me so scared I wet my crate again! But Mama took me out and held me gently as we waited in the exam room for Doctor Sarah. I was trembling so hard I could barely breathe. My paw pads were oozing sweat and my heart was racing so fast I felt light-headed and woozy.

When Doctor Sarah finally came in, Mama had to unhitch me, claw by claw, from her sweater in order to set me down on the table.  “Poor thing, she’s so scared she’s shivering,” Mama said.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Doctor Sarah said. “I know this is hard, huh?”

“Meep?” I managed to say.

“What a good, brave girl,” Mama said as Sarah lifted me up to look at my belly.

“Well, I was afraid of this,” Sarah said. “I’m going to have to cut the edges of that wound and stitch them back together. I’m sorry, little Dahlia.” She stroked my head.

“So when should we do it?” Mama asked.

“I’d set aside a few minutes today because I suspected this would happen. So if you want to leave her here, you can pick her up on the way home this afternoon.”

“Okay. I didn’t feed her this morning because I noticed the wound wasn’t closing and I thought you might say that. I don’t want her running around the farm with an open wound that isn’t healing.”

Saddest. Kitty. Ever.

Mama gave me a hug and kiss. “I’ll be back for you later, Dahlia, I promise,” she said. “You be good.”

And once again, I was forcibly removed into the bowels of the clinic where I awaited my fate, hunched in the back of my cage and shaking with terror, as the bloodthirsty baying of dogs and the screeches of half-feral barn cats swirled around me.

That’s … that’s the last thing I remember *sniffle* before Mama came to take me home.

Now I’m going to curl up in a tiny little ball and *sniffle* cry for a while until … until Mama gets home!

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I thought getting spayed was bad enough, but I had no idea what was in store for me next!

It wasn’t Siouxsie or Thomas’s fault. They were actually very nice to me — once they got over the fact that I smelled like the vet. Thomas groomed my ears and snuggled next to me, and even Siouxsie consoled me.

“I know what it’s like, sweetie,” she told me. “Don’t worry, the pain will get better in a few days. And then I’ll start swatting you again!”

Well, Siouxsie was right. My tummy hurt a lot less after that first night at home. But holy Sekhmet, was I cold! That giant hole in my fur left me no protection against the nasty, wintry drafts in our little barn apartment, and the only reason I didn’t freeze right to death was that Thomas slept right next to me and covered up my naked spot as much as he possibly could. He even helped me make a nest out of my favorite purple fleece blanket, and that helped too.

A couple of days after I came back home, the line where the vet sliced me open to remove my girly bits started to itch. I licked at it, and I noticed that as soon as I licked it enough to sting because of my bristly tongue, I could relax. And that worked for a while.

But then the next day, it itched even more. And even though I licked it until I could barely stand the sting, the itchiness came back before I could even drift off into a nap. I thought I was going to go crazy! Finally, exhausted, I wailed to Thomas,  “I hate this! How come I can’t stop the itching?” I slumped my head into the fur on his shoulder and let my eyes leak.

“There, there,” he said as he gave me a gentle lick on the forehead. “I’m sure Mama will fix it. She can fix everything! It won’t be long until she gets home.”

“But … but … it’s …” Furiously, I started licking at the line on my tummy. I even nibbled at it, I was so upset.

“Rest easy, sweet Dahlia,” Thomas cooed in my ear. “Come on over here and snuggle next to me, and I’ll purr you to sleep.”

I must have managed to drift off, because the next thing I knew I heard the hum of Mama’s car and the bouncing beams of her headlights as she drove toward the house. I jumped off the sofa and, with a shiver, waited to greet her as she came in the door. Greeting Mama was my favorite thing in the whole world!

I got ever more excited as I heard her CLUMP-CLUMP-CLUMP up the stairs, and as she entered I braved the arctic wind that blew in with her and stood with my tail wagging, singing my “Welcome Home, Mama” song as she slammed the door shut behind her, dropped her bags and leaned over to pet us.

Then it was supper time, and I forgot all about my itchy belly — so, of course, I didn’t think to ask Mama to fix it.

But there’s a law among feline-kind that clearly states, “if something is to go terribly wrong with a cat, it must happen after the dusk hunt and before the dawn hunt.” And so it was that long after Mama went all the way from catnap to deep, deep sleep, my tummy started itching again!

I licked and nibbled and bit and licked and nibbled … and I couldn’t make it stop!

I didn’t manage to wake up Mama with all my shuffling and slurping and shaking, but Siouxsie certainly came to attention. “For Bast’s sake, cut that out, you stinky little kitten!” she growled as she glared at me.

“But Siouxsie, it itches!”

“You keep all that snurfing and nibbling up, and you’re going to regret it,” she said.

Thomas opened one eye and mumbled, “Go to sleep, Siouxsie.”

I snuggled close to Thomas and asked him if he’d help me lick my tummy. I was exhausted from all that curling up, and my tongue hurt from all my hard work. He said he’d lick my head again because that would help me get some sleep.

Finally the dawn broke and Mama’s clock started going Bip-bip-bip … bip-bip-bip. That was my cue! I jumped up and walked across Mama’s bladder a few times to help her get out of bed. Then I stuck my nose in her face and tickled her with my whiskers until she started to pet me. As she worked her way down my body, her fingers caressed my stomach … and stopped. She sat up straight and grabbed me before I could jump off the bed to join Siouxsie and Thomas at the food dishes. Then she stood me up on my back legs and peered at my poor, cold, naked tummy.

“Oh, Jesus,” she said. She pulled me close to her and stroked my head. “It’ll be okay, Dahlia. I’ll fix it, I promise.”

“I told you she’d fix it,” Thomas said.

Mama was just about ready to go when she looked at me and picked up her little phone thing. I heard her say things like, “quarter-inch hole in her spay scar; pulled apart; liquid coming out … okay. Thanks, I’ll be right down.”

She shuffled me into my portable prison before I could run off — I blame my still-incomplete recovery for my inability to escape her clutches — and off we went to the vet’s office.

“What have you done, Dahlia?” Doctor Sarah said as she opened the exam room door. “I hear you’ve opened up your incision. Let’s take a look … ”

She rolled me over on my side and looked at my embarrassingly furless abdomen. “You have, haven’t you?” she said.

“I was especially worried when I felt the liquid,” Mama said. I could hear the tension in her voice. “I was afraid she’d opened herself up right into her peritoneal cavity or something.”

She poked and prodded around the edges of the hole a little bit. “I don’t see any signs of infection, and although the skin is separated, the muscle and deeper tissues seem to be fine.

“It looks to me like the edges of the skin have healed, so I’m not confident that the wound will close on its own. But let’s give it a try, because the other choice is to re-operate and make those incision edges fresh again.

I'm so miserable! I have to wear the Cone of Shame!

“Let’s give her an E-collar so she won’t lick at the wound, and some antibiotics to prevent infection in that open spot. Bring her back in a week or so and let’s see if it’s closed up at all.

And so began my horrific sentence: at least one week in the Cone Of Shame!

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When Mama returned home after work, I was still trying to wrap my brain around this whole heaters and spades thing.

We all jumped up and ran to greet Mama at the door, and as usual she gave us all greetings and loving petties as soon as she put her bags down. But something weird happened when Mama reached down to stroke my back: Before I even knew what was happening, my tummy was on the floor, my back legs were in the air, and my tail swished to the side!

“Well, well, well,” Mama said. “I think it’s time to call Doctor Sarah and make an appointment to get you spayed!”

“Darn it, what’s a spade?” I cried.

“Aww, what a sweet kitty you are,” Mama cooed. “I love you, too.”

I walked away from Mama with my tail lashing — I was so frustrated!

But then the thrills of eating supper and spending the evening staying warm together on Mama’s lap and then curling up all together under the blankets made me forget all about what had been bothering me.

The next day, after we finished our supper, Mama called me. I ran right over to her and jumped up in her lap because I knew it was time for some special love. Once I’d settled down and was purring my contentment, Mama said, “Dahlia, I’ve got something to tell you: You’re going to go see Doctor Sarah next week, and you’re going to get spayed.”

“Will you please tell me what a spade is?” I begged, rubbing my cheek against her hand.

“Spaying is a special operation that makes it so you can’t have kittens,” she said. “I’m going to have to drop you off at Doctor Sarah’s office in the morning. They’ll make you go to sleep for a little while and when you wake up you’ll be a little bit sore, but you’ll be all better soon.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about this,” I said. “It doesn’t sound like much fun.”

Of course, being a foolish kitten, I once again forgot about this conversation and any fears I had about spades. It wasn’t until Mama brought out the portable kitty prison one evening that I began to have the hazy recollection of some kind of talk we’d had about spades and sleeps and Doctor Sarah.

Then the next morning she wouldn’t let me eat breakfast or drink any water! I was so sad! What had I done to deserve this privation?

Well, things didn’t get any better after she tossed me in the prison and slammed the door shut behind me. Even though Mama tried to console me and tell me what a brave girl I am, I still cried all the way to Doctor Sarah’s office. By the time Mama dropped me off, she was ready to cry, too. “You be good, sweetheart,” she said, stroking my side through the bars of my prison. “I’ll be back to get you first thing tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her,” said the receptionist lady as she picked up my carrier, brought me into the bowels of the hospital, and handed me off to another lady. The smells of chemicals and dogs and Other Cats wafted around me. In a small room, the lady opened my portable prison; I stuck my head out and looked around to make sure there were no dogs there before I left my safe space. The lady cooed at me as she drew up some white stuff into a syringe, then she opened the door and said, “Sarah, Dahlia’s ready.”

“Hi there, Dahlia,” Doctor Sarah said, rubbing my cheek. “It’s your big day today!”

I purred and rubbed my head against her hand.

“Aw, you’re such a sweetie,” she said as the other lady picked me up and turned me around to face Doctor Sarah. Then Doctor Sarah stuck that awful needle and syringe full of white stuff right in my front leg! Before I could protest, I got so sleepy ….

…and then I opened my eyes. My mouth was terribly dry and my throat hurt. I really wanted a drink, so I raised my head and looked around for a water dish … and everything started spinning!

With a squeak, I laid my head back on the cage floor in hopes that the world would stop flying around me. I heaved, but there was nothing in my stomach except … a giant, gaping, throbbing, ache!

I gasped. “My tummy hurts!” I wailed.

“Mine too!” another voice cried from the cage next door.

“My baaaawwwls! My baaaaawwwwls! Oh, my baaaaaaaaaaawwwwls!” came a pitiful moan from the cage on the other side of mine.

“Oh, be quiet, Frank!” snapped a distinctly dog-like voice from below. “The rest of us would like to get some sleep, if you don’t mind.”

“But … but … my ba …”

“Shut your hole,” the dog said. “You know as well as I do that the Shelter People brought us here to get Fixed so we’d be able to find forever homes.”

“You came from the Shelter?” I asked. “I’m a shelter kitty, too. Mama adopted me when the leaves were starting to turn orange. By the way, my name is Dahlia. And I feel awful!”

“I’m Sadie,” the dog said. “And the cat that isn’t whining about missing balls is Ashley. I know it hurts right now, but it’ll get better soon. See? Here comes the nice vet nurse lady. She’ll give you some medicine and you’ll be okay right quick.”

Sadie was right. The lady put some more stuff into my leg and the pain faded into a distant memory. Between the comfort of numbness and the familiar smell of the purple pillowcase Mama had left with me, I started to feel a little better. By late that evening, I even took a bite of my food. And Frank, too, had drifted off to sleep – much to my relief.

When I woke up the next morning, my tummy was still pretty sore, but I felt hungry when the vet nurse lady put some food in my dish.

And then, just as I started to wash my face after breakfast, I heard Mama’s voice! “Mama!” I cried. “Oh, Mama!”

The nurse lady came back, took me out of my cage, and gently laid me in my carrier. She tucked my special pillowcase next to me and closed the door. “Bye, Sadie and Frank and Ashley. I hope you find forever homes really soon,” I said as the lady carried me out to the waiting room.

“Oh, Dahlia,” Mama said, sticking her fingers through the bars of my prison. “I’m so happy to see you, sweetheart!” Her eyes leaked just a little bit. “It was so weird without you on the bed last night.”

The day after I got spayed, I got to have Mama all to myself while I visited with her at the office.

“But you get me all to yourself today, because you get to come to work with me.”

I was too tired and sore to cry as the car moved down the bumpy roads, as Mama carried me through the cold air from the parking lot to her office building, and as my portable prison bounced around while Mama carried me up four flights of stairs.

When we finally stopped moving and Mama opened the cage door, I stepped gingerly out, doing my best to guard my sore tummy. Then Mama gave me the gentlest and kindest hug and kiss, and my heart just about burst with love and joy. I knew everything was going to be OK!

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Life was going along quite nicely now that Mama had figured out my name. I had lots of yummy, tasty food — much better than anything I’d ever eaten at the Shelter, that’s for sure! There were huge sun puddles to bask in, and I’d found a good friend in my new brother Thomas.

Then, one evening, Mama brought a portable kitty prison into the house. I didn’t think much of it, because I knew I was never going to leave my new home. Sure, I’d heard Mama talking on that funny box she holds up to her ear sometimes, and she did mention my name. But it didn’t occur to me that the talking-box conversation and the kitty prison were related in any way — until Mama swept me off my feet and put me inside the tiny jail cell again.

What are you doing, Mama? I cried. Why did you put me in here?

“It’s okay, Dahlia,” she said. “We’re just going to the vet, that’s all.”

What’s a vet? I wondered. Does that mean she’s going to take me back to the Shelter? Maybe she’s not happy that I’m a girl kitty after all.

I clawed at the bars of my cage with every ounce of strength I could muster, all the while uttering despairing cries. Thomas tried to comfort me, but I was inconsolable.

Mama picked up my box and told Siouxsie and Thomas to be good. As she shut the door behind her, I begged the goddess Bastet to intercede on my behalf. How could you have blessed me with such a wonderful new family, only to let that awful human tear me away from my home? Where’s the justice?

Once Mama put me in the car, I started crying all over again. Why? Whyyyyyyyy? I wailed.

“You’re such a good, brave kitty,” Mama told me, snaking her fingers between the bars of my cage to give me a little rub on the head.

By the time the car stopped and Mama brought me inside, I was almost hoarse from all my yelling. “I’ve got Dahlia here for her checkup,” she said to the human on the other side of the reception desk.

The lady peered in at me and I cried at her, too. Then she laughed at me and made some comment about how cute I was!

A few minutes later, we were inside a tiny room that smelled like disinfectant and scared cats. Mama opened the door of my prison and another lady swooped me up and put me on a wobbly little shelf. “Two pounds, one ounce,” the lady said and scribbled something on a piece of paper. Well, let me tell you, once she let me go I flew into the darkest corner I could find. After she left, I determined that there was no imminent danger, so I took a stroll around the perimeter of the room and jumped up on a chair. I caught a glimpse of something on the other side of the window and hopped onto the windowsill. Wow, I thought, this is almost as pretty as my … my home?

Is it still my home?

“Oh, Dahlia,” Mama reassured me, “you’ll always be a member of my family, don’t you worry about that.”

With those words, I settled into her lap with a sighing purr and started to relax.

Then I perked up my ears at a soft rattling and a knock. A small, blonde-haired human quickly let herself in and closed the door behind her. “So, this is your new kitty?” she asked.

“Hi, Sarah,” Mama replied as she set me on the exam table. “Yes, this is Dahlia. Formerly known as a male cat named Blackie. But she showed me her bottom the other day and I was like, ‘Hey, that’s an innie, not an outie!’”

Sarah stroked me gently and lifted my tail. “Yup, you’re right. That’s a girl kitty, all right.”

I was just starting to relax into Sarah’s loving attention when she put a giant cold disc on my chest. I tried to pull away, but Mama held me in place. “Her little ticker sounds good,” Sarah said as she examined my ears (with some awful scratchy-sounding thing) and made my mouth open up so she could see my teeth.

“Hmm,” Sarah said. “Her paperwork says she’s 12 weeks old, but her teeth say she’s more like 4 or 5 months old.”

“Wow. So not only did they get the boy-girl thing wrong, they got her age wrong too?” Mama asked. “I guess I’d better hurry up and get her spayed.”

“I don’t think you have to rush,” Sarah said. “She’s still so small, I doubt she could even sustain a heat at this point. Besides, I’d like her to weigh at least three pounds before she’s spayed.”

Sarah ran a comb through my fur and poked at my belly, then she gave me a stroke on the head and told me how good I was. I thought everything was over until … well, I was just minding my own business, enjoying Mama’s loving, gentle hands stroking my ears, when suddenly Sarah lifted up my tail again.

Hey! I cried. Get that thing out of my butt!

Mama held me more tightly.

I’m serious! Don’t make me turn around and bite you!

Finally Sarah removed the humiliating probe, and I thought all was well.

“You know,” Sarah said. “Maybe considering the ‘mistaken identity’ issue, we ought to re-test her for FIV and leukemia. Just to be on the safe side.”

Mama gave her consent, and Sarah whisked me out of the room into The Back Of The Clinic. There, she and another lady held me down, stretched out my foreleg, and made a piece of my beautiful fur go away. I squirmed and struggled, but they wouldn’t let go. Then they tied a piece of rubber around my leg and plunged a huge needle into me!

Ow! Ow! Ow! OOOOOOOWWWW! I cried.

“Good kitty,” Sarah said. I struggled harder.

OOOOW! OOOW! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH! I screamed. MAAAAAAAAMAAAAA! HEEELP MEEEEE! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWW!

Then I saw red stuff going into the bottle on the end of the needle and my head spun. The non-Sarah lady loosened her grip on me. My vision cleared again, and with every ounce of energy I could muster, I swatted her really hard. With my claws out! Ha!

Finally the lady took me back to the room where Mama was waiting for me. I ran into her arms and buried myself in the warmth of her sweater. Oh, Maaaammaaaa, I cried as I trembled. Why did you let them do that to me?

“It’s OK, sweetie,” Mama said. “You’re fine. What a good, brave girl you are.”

Gradually my shivering abated as Mama petted me and reassured me.

About half a nap later, the door opened again. It was Horrible Sarah. “Good news. She’s fine and healthy: Negative for both FIV and leukemia.”

This is me at Mama's office. Notice that I'm hiding the part of my leg where they took my fur away!

“Yes, and let’s check her weight too, so we can see how she’s growing. Have a great day. And you too, Dahlia.”

Mama opened the door to my carrier and I ran inside as fast as my paws would carry me. I never thought I’d be happy to get into my portable prison!

I was rewarded for the horrible suffering inflicted on me, though: I got to spend the whole day at the office with Mama!

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