I just got back from the vet with a freshly fixed cat and she sucks now. I hope you’re happy.
One uterine snip later and she’s not doing shit. What once was horny and fun is now infertile and bor-ing. She’s just lying there, as if she’s been drugged. I mean, she has been drugged, but is that really an excuse to become a lazy shell of her former self?
And don’t get me started on how ugly she is now. Instead of a nice furry belly, she’s got a shaved tummy with a line of gross stitches in the center. On top of that, they poodle-cut two of her legs. I’m sorry, but this is not the attractive cat I signed up for. No wonder she seems embarrassed. Good thing we don’t have a mirror at her eye level.
I figured she might want to play some ball after getting the ol’ spaymentation, but noooooo, the doctor says she can’t engage in strenuous activity for at least three days. THREE DAYS? How am I gonna get my ball-throwing fix? Toss it to some rats outside? When you throw something to a rat, you ain’t seeing it again, my friend.
I don’t get it. So many of you were like, “Get your cat fixed, you animal.” But now she’s not even purring. She’s just looking at me like, “What the fuck just happened?” I don’t know, cat, but if she thinks she’s got it bad, she doesn’t know how little fun it is to have a suddenly bedridden cat.
If pressed, I’ll admit I’m glad she’s no longer in a constant state of randy confusion, but what’s the benefit of replacing unfulfilled horniness with woozy melancholy?
Granted, it’s only been a few hours since she got back from the vet. She may return to normal in a few days, but I’m not holding my breath. I can see the look in her hazy eyes; the Fire of Horniness has been extinguished by the Waters of “Don’t Fucking Touch Me For A While.” All I can do now is pray that she hasn’t been ruined by science.
Here are some graphs: