So I had my cat fixed. Five years ago. Imagine my horror about two months after his surgery when he turned to look at my kitchen cupboards, raised his tail, and sprayed.
"Sometimes it doesn't take," my vet said.
"Oh," I said.
Since I didn't have the heart to have Dexter go under the knife again, I've just learned to live with it. I just make sure he goes outside at least every three or four days, so he can grace a bush or passing squirrel. This has worked, more or less.
Except yesterday, when I turned from my computer. I had heard an odd sound, and wondered what it was. There, in front of my bookshelves, was Dexter, spraying merrily away.
"HEY!" I shouted.
Dexter looked up at me. Since I get angry about once a year with him, he had no idea what my problem was. I reached to grab him, but he just finished his business, happy as spraying cat can be. Consider that bookshelf marked, mofo, he seemed to be saying.
Half an hour of cleanup, disinfectant and scrubbing later, I just had to remind myself.
Sometimes in life, things just don't take.
0 comments:
Post a Comment