So get this. As some of you know, we have had - and still have - quite a few cats. Some we got from the pound, but more than a few have just come to us: wandered in, then stuck around. And a couple were ferals that we helped rescue. Anyway, once we acknowledge that a cat is "ours", we take him/her to our vet and get them vaccinated and, when old enough, fixed.
The exception was Cocoa. He got his shots OK, but before he was old enough to get fixed, he just disappeared. We felt awful but eventually moved on. THEN, after about three months, he strolled back in one morning like he had just woken up from a short nap. But during his mysterious travels, he had gotten as husky as a small badger, lost a piece of one ear, and now had a big ol' set of balls on him. Not too domestic anymore, shall we say.
After having a meal or two, he made himself scarce - we'd only see him a couple times a month for a while there.
Then, recently, after a couple of years of now you see me now you don't, Cocoa began spending more time around the backyard, and coming into the pantry more often for meals (which freaked out the other cats big-time, except for Elvis).
Soon he was being very affectionate, mostly to me, even coming all the way into the living room in the evenings, to sit on my lap (or, balance on my lap - again, big cat). We were of mixed feelings about his redomestication, though, because he really does freak most of the others out. We also didn't understand what had prompted his new lovey-doveyness.
Then, this morning, Teri calls me at work; I answer, and ask what's up. Silence. Then, "Cocoa's balls are gone."
My turn to pause. Then, "What do you mean his balls are gone?"
Well, far as we can tell, seems like one of our neighbors did what we thought was impossible - they caught him, took him to be fixed, then released him.
Ain't that the damnedest thing. But the guy himself seems utterly unfazed.
The exception was Cocoa. He got his shots OK, but before he was old enough to get fixed, he just disappeared. We felt awful but eventually moved on. THEN, after about three months, he strolled back in one morning like he had just woken up from a short nap. But during his mysterious travels, he had gotten as husky as a small badger, lost a piece of one ear, and now had a big ol' set of balls on him. Not too domestic anymore, shall we say.
After having a meal or two, he made himself scarce - we'd only see him a couple times a month for a while there.
Then, recently, after a couple of years of now you see me now you don't, Cocoa began spending more time around the backyard, and coming into the pantry more often for meals (which freaked out the other cats big-time, except for Elvis).
Soon he was being very affectionate, mostly to me, even coming all the way into the living room in the evenings, to sit on my lap (or, balance on my lap - again, big cat). We were of mixed feelings about his redomestication, though, because he really does freak most of the others out. We also didn't understand what had prompted his new lovey-doveyness.
Then, this morning, Teri calls me at work; I answer, and ask what's up. Silence. Then, "Cocoa's balls are gone."
My turn to pause. Then, "What do you mean his balls are gone?"
Well, far as we can tell, seems like one of our neighbors did what we thought was impossible - they caught him, took him to be fixed, then released him.
Ain't that the damnedest thing. But the guy himself seems utterly unfazed.
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