Zip and Snip your cat

What has the intellect of a toddler and the reflexes of a ninja?
 A cat!

Cats are sensitive souls. This – and the above reasons – are why you need to get those little moggies spayed, for the love of God. Also, they get more aggressive and scratchy and they don’t mind where they do their big poops and whizzes coz they’re just marking territory if you don’t give them a dose of the testicular removals.

And who wants more cats anyway? Nobody. And why not? 

Because a dog bites you, he dies. No three strikes for a dog. Man is to dog as Nature is to bees. End of discussion.

Cats? They scratch, they bite, they hiss at you, and run away when you gain enough advantage to use your human strength against them.

Then you try to reprimand them and they’re hurling their metal throwing stars at you from beneath the furniture. Ninja moggies!

Imagine what the cat will do to you when he knows he’s gonna be stripped of his genetic inheritance!

You don’t want to be living in that kind of fear, Shirley?

So to spare the blushes beneath the fur of their cheeky little jowls, below is a list of euphemisms that you can use so that the cat doesn’t know that he’s gonna get his goolies removed!

Animal health professionals have established this secret code over the last decade or more. 

If the cat’s listening in to your conversation with your vet over the phone, perhaps on the other line in the bedroom like a sneaky chancer, here is what you can say to your vet, and he or she will fully understand your meaning:

“I’d like you to meet my Lil Georgie Foreman and then I will go home for a while, okay? and then when I come back you can serve me up some tasty feline treats! On a platter, if you catch my meaning.” 

“My pussy has too much testosterone. It needs a good sorting.”

“You know Lord Varys in Game of Thrones? Yeah, can you do what was done to him, to my little Pepper-Spray? He’s spraying a lot more pepper lately, and winter is coming!”

“Can you de-tibulate Mr Tibbles?”

“Would you be able to divest Calvin of his siring capacity?”

“Hi. I’d like to book myself in for a castration. Not me exactly. You know who I’m talkin’ about.”

Failing use of these euphemisms, a desperate cat owner is left one last resort:

Without saying a word, send your vet a photo of your hand in the air with two large black dots painted on the palm, stuck together, with hair sticking out, and a large red X through them. He’ll know what to do.   

This is the Z in the April AtoZ. Better late than never.

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