Do-It-Yourself Castration

Mike grew up on a hobby farm. His family raised everything from peacocks to cows to American Eskimos. His stories are always entertaining and often crude. For example, while they were in the pig business, he helped castrate the male piglets. He held the pig down on its back, with its hind legs splayed. His mother, the surgeon, would make two small incisions near the pig’s hind end and pop out the testicles. His account makes it sound as simple as squeezing a ripe pimple.

Recently, while discussing the cost of getting Mr. Tibbs fixed, he told me that his family neutered their kittens too. (The farm included a Persian cattery at one point.) According to Mike, the treatment of cats was a little more humane. First, they put the kittens in a working refrigerator. Then, after the kittens were sedated from the cold and lack of air, they were given the piglet treatment. Supposedly, it was less traumatic after the “anesthesia.”

After allowing me to be completely horrified for a few days, he revealed that, although the pig story was true, the kitten neutering was just a spontaneous lie. You see, his newest hobby is telling outrageous stories to see who will fall for them. I was his latest victim.

Last night, when I arrived home, Mike had already left for Frisbee. Cleo greeted me in the driveway and Mimi in the house. Strangely, Mr. Tibbs was no where to be found. I began searching the house, calling his name. Soon I heard a faint meowing. Following the sound, I moved to the kitchen. I opened the back door, thinking Tibbs had escaped outside. He wasn’t there…and the meowing was coming from my left, the refrigerator. Gasping, I pulled open the fridge door and Mr. Tibbs came bounding out. He was very cold and frightened, but didn’t seem to be suffering from a lack of oxygen. I frantically cuddled him until he warmed up. His precious little ears and paws were the last to lose the chill. He was soon his crazy little Tibbie self again, but a little sticky with food residue.

Although I was dismayed to find Tibbs in the refrigerator, I wasn’t surprised. He’s been hopping in there to explore every time we open the door. Knowing that Mike isn’t terribly observant, it isn’t unbelievable that Mr. Tibbs slipped in unnoticed and was then trapped. Still, I can’t help wondering if Mike was trying to save us the 50 bucks it would cost to have the vet fix Tibbers by doing it ourselves.