Oh Valentine’s Day ! The day of love, the day of lovers. The day when everyone who still has the mojo will try to woo the beloved one a bit more than usual. With extra vigour. More enthusiastically. If you still have the mojo…
For the feline denizens of the House of Chaos the mojo is to be regarded as something of the past. Something you barely remember having, and certainly won’t regret no longer having. The mojo for cats is a fleeting thing, used only twice a year or so, and they are well off without if you want my opinion. Sure, cats need to procreate, but the feline denizens of the House of Chaos are out of the procreation loop, will no longer feel odd during the “Cats’ Month” of February, will no longer seek out the fleeting pleasures of the carnal kind. Will no longer roam the streets in a pheromone-dazed frenzy, will no longer try to murder the competition who is equally equipped and motivated.
Of course, the Frankensiblings, until today, still had their mojo. No longer now. The Man In White has done his miraculous work with the scissors and scalpels and so no more will Franky feel those weird urges to mount his sister, no more will Frankette caterwaul and moan, dragging her shapely little furry butt all over the floor, inviting male companions who -in the case of the other feline denizens of the House of Chaos- aren’t interested anyway, except for the incestuous one that is. But it still leaves one problem to solve.
This morning, as I was getting up and puttering about in order to perform my morning ablutions, there was this Almost Franky as always forlorn at the back door. He had done his best, the little bugger. He’s been spraying his manly odours around for all to admire and Frankette to swoon from. The entire Garden of Chaos, the entire Shed of Chaos, and even the Back Door of Chaos were just shuddering under the onslaught of virile pheromones carrying the message that “Hey missus ! I”m here ! I stand ready. I’ve got plenty of mojo !” And, true to her feline yet-unneutered nature, Frankette was waiting in the veranda for me to let her out since some nasty mistress-who-shall-not-be-named had locked up the cat-flap earlier, staring accusingly at me for the evil deed of keeping her away from her swain.
Other eyes were staring accusingly at me as well. Since the Frankensiblings had to be sober for the surgery I had taken away all of the foodbowls and the waterbowl last night. The other feline denizens of the House of Chaos, not being accustomed to the horrific sight of empty foodbowls, and certainly not being accustomed to the equally heart-rending sight of the empty floor where overflowing foodbowls are supposed to be, were all present and were all watching me with murder in their lovely eyes. Hard times for them. Tough luck. Food would only come again later in the afternoon, when the Frankensiblings have been locked up in the travel basket and the others can be fed again.
The problem with locking the cat-flap is that our furry friends, accustomed to free access into the Garden of Chaos, now found themselves unable to go out for a few hours and this taxed their bladder-control mightily. One of them found forbidden relief and managed to soak Grumpy Man’s backpack (which he takes to his work, carrying his bread and such). Since Grumpy Man had been the one who remarked to me earlier that morning that “accidents” were going to happen, this strikes me as somehow poetic. Not justice, but poetic anyway. Somehow the kitty-cats know exactly who they can punish the best for whatever slight they feel the simians have imparted unto them. And locking up the cat-flap, combined with taking away the food, even for a few hours, certainly takes pride of place on their list of grievances.
Grievances the Frankensiblings may nurse now. Both are still dazed from the sedation and are waggling about, snoring a stretch, then stumbling around the place again. The first thing they did upon arrival back into the House of Chaos was leave the travel basket and make a beeline towards the foodbowls. Of course. Then they tried to wake up. Then Franky managed to climb the stairs and retire to The Nest. I mean, he wasn’t even awake yet. Somehow we must have made an impression upon these 2 kitlings and with Franky I’m now sure… for him The Nest is Home.
Rest me to tell you about the wondrous and fascinating sight the Man In White had prepared for me to admire and inspect… a wad with on top of it a tiny set of ovaries and womb. Very very tiny. And the Man In White, not usually known for soft-hearted sentimentality, fondly described Frankette as “het poppemieke”. The little girl-doll. For a moment there that gruff no-nonsense vet seemed… touched ?
Franky: “I think I’m missing something… but what ?”
A slowly becoming irate Loup-Garou: “Uhmmm… hello there ? Are you snoring in my fur ?”