Yesterday I took Freddie to the doctor. To get his balls cut off. He wasn’t allowed to eat or drink water after 10 p.m. the night before, so he spent all morning racing to the kitchen cupboard that houses his kibble, stopping to look at me, and then racing to his bowl where his food normally goes at breakfast time. He didn’t whine or cry; he simply continued this spectacle until I packaged him up and said, “I’m sorry, but it’s time.”
He looked terrified, like he knew what was coming.
My heart ached for the little fur ball, but Jeff reminded me that neutering not only alleviates pet overpopulation but also contributes to a happier home, and that we were doing the right thing. (His exact words might have been, “Be strong! Young Fred will be fine. Less of a man, but fine.” But I knew what he meant.)
After work, I retrieved Freddie from the animal hospital expecting a groggy, weak little kitten, but instead I got a more rambunctious one than I had before. He illustrated his hunger by shredding an entire roll of toilet paper, knocking over an expensive, full-length mirror that stands in the hallway (which I can’t even lift on my own), and running full-speed through the apartment for the better part of the evening.
hi! i'm meghan—writer, crafter, wife, mom, designer and dreamer from rainy, beautiful portland, oregon. welcome to my little corner of the internet! i love telling stories that celebrate life, love, motherhood and more, preserving precious bits and pieces of my kids' childhoods in the process. more about me