This morning I took both Shasta and Turner in to be neutered. This is it for me, the last neuters of all times. Then, I will turn to and get this dang vet bill off my neck, take care of my crew while still trying to find homes for the kittens here and just concentrate on finishing my manuscript. That’s the plan and this time, I believe God is on board with the agenda. I asked Him first what He wanted me to do, instead of just plowing ahead and doing it.

I was quite embarassed this morning at the vet’s office. I had filled out the spay form and the neuter form and presented it to the girls. Judy came out, picked up Turner, vanished into the back. A few minutes later, she came for Shasta, vanished behind the door only to reappear a few seconds later grinning.

“Mary Anne?” she asked. I turned around and said “Yes?”
“Your little girl kitty- well she has balls!” Then she laughed.

It figures, when the lady gave me the kittens, she said here is a little boy and a little girl and I never even thought to check! I just thought okay, another female better watch her because brother could get her pregnant.

Well, I didn’t have to worry about that, and my neuter bill just decreased by $60.00! Plus the recovery time of a neuter is minutes not hours as in a spay.

Last night when I went to pick up Turner, he freaked out. Someone was shooting nearby (hunting season) and the gun sounded like it was in our backyard. I had Turner scruffed, the gun went off, Turner started, he twisted around, sank his tiny teeth into my right wrist, his back legs found my left wrist and his front legs found my right one. He was out to turn me into shredded wheat. I couldn’t get him off me to save my life, and I knew if I just released him he would hide for days. So while he was still biting me, I carried him into the cage in the bedroom (it is heavily padded- stuck my arms inside and using my body, I used the door as a scraper to get him off me.

Boy it hurt like the dickens and I was bleeding like a stuck pig. He just missed my vein on my wrist with his teeth, but I was raked pretty good. I ran into the bathroom, grabbed the antibacterial soap, lathered up, scrubbed and scrubbed, more hot water, then I poured bleach over both arms and tried not to scream. Another scrub-down, applied neosporin and gulped down some antibiotics I keep on hand. Holy smokes! My arms look like I was in the arena with a baby lion!

I fully expected to wake up this morning to swelling and bruising-but the bleach took care of that. I am sore but not painful. As far as Turner goes, I am sad. We had made such great strides together and now I am once again the ultimate predator in his world. When he comes home, we will just have to start over from scratch (no pun intended!)