I had to deprive them of all food from 10pm last night, and of course they decided not to eat anything after 5pm, so this morning they were starving and searched everywhere for their food bowls, which were safely stowed away, together with the dogs' bowls. They also weren't let out of the door at 6am, and a lot of sulking went on until 8.30, when I cruelly caged them and headed for the vet. They complained the whole way there, sometimes in unison - a kind of cat's chorus, a requiem to their reproductiveness. I could tell I was in bad odour.
Having filled in pages of forms absolving the vet from any liability in case of mishap, and pointing out that Biggles was not a dog as indicated on the form, I waved them bravely farewell as they disappeared into the nether regions of the surgery and immediately set off for a restorative cappuccino with Mother and Father.
Within a few hours I was informed that the operations had proceeded well and I could collect my kitties. This time there wasn't a peep from either of them as they cuddled together on a pink blanket in the cat box, somewhat subdued. After a large slice of my credit card limit was axed, I was free to leave, with instructions to keep them quiet for a day or so. Of course, little Mango, being a lady, had the disfiguring major invasive surgery (on her side for some reason), while Biggles got off lightly as men always do, with a snip or two. He doesn't even know what's happened.
The instant they got home, it was time for a quick snack of chopped chicken and then out of the door and into the garden, where they disappeared for the next four hours, doubtless sulking in seclusion somewhere. Eventually they relented and came back inside so that I could stroke and say nice things about them. Mango is not pleased about her stitches but is happy that her fur will cover the scar soon, and Biggles remains king of his castle, despite being not quite the man he used to be.
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