Hard Choices

I hardly know what to title this entry. It's been so long since I've written much - seems like I've been pretty quiet since the infamous "Winfield series." I haven't trusted my voice, or my imagination. I've crawled behind a curtain of other people's words. Pictures of my kitten.

Actually, that's why I'm here now. To talk some more about Dame Julian. To display more of my neurosis by sharing how I agonized over the decision to have her spayed.

Or, as a coworker put it, the decision to take her in for a hysterectomy.

I mean, what gives me the right? Because I'm bigger? Because I can think (perhaps too much)?

I all politically correct, you know. I talk about DJ being my animal companion rather than a pet. I don't say that I own her; nor do I indulge in the notion that she owns me. I treat her with respect. I don't expect her to understand my words. I don't try to reason with her or bargain with her, for I know that would be a waste of time. I do my best not to project human feelings and thoughts on her, though that's a challenge.

I don't suppose she tears up the house during the day for revenge. I suppose she does it because she's bored.

Who can say what an animal would want? Animals don't get spayed and neutered in the wild. They survive or die.

As much as we can say an animal might "want" something, in the same way a human does, it seems reasonable that an animal would "want" to perpetuate its species. It is, at the very least - so much as we can understand it - a biological imperative.

Now, Julian cannot fullfill that imperative. I have had the option removed.

The thing is done. The option was the best for my life. My tidy little existence has been dramatically shifted by the adjustments I've made to accomodate this little furry creature. I can't imagine how a house full of helpless kittens would rock my world. And the expense. Manoman.

The city is full of unwanted felines. If DJ had kittens, they would likely end up in the shelter. And I'd feel even worse about sending those little fur balls to their almost certain doom.

I made the decision for her. I only know a few phrases in cat &mash; most of which having to do with food — so I had no way to communicate with her. I had no way to ask her opinion, or of explaining the procedure in any way that would be meaningful to her.

Hah! I am projecting! I keep thinking she's giving me dirty looks. I often think she's avoiding me because she's angry. Seems unlikely.

I made the choice. The organ has been removed, and there is no way to replace it. I note a dip in her belly as she passes, and I hurt. But I still believe I made the right choice. I made a choice best for both of us.

She's recovering. Right now, she's playing with a small plastic ball which has a tiny bell inside. She's still not leaping onto things with great speed or alarcity, but that's a good thing. She needs to keep that sort of thing to a minimum for a few more days.

On Friday, I kept asking people to reassure me that I made the right choice. And everyone assured me that the choice DJ would have selected, had we the means to communicate. But, honestly, what else would people say?

What would you say?