MATURE ANIMAL HUMOR
At the Vet Getting My Cat a Sex Change
A dog owner was giving me an evil eye
Everything smelled of dog hair and cat piss inside the vet's waiting room. My beloved Russian Blue was in the carrier whining, as well as he should. He was going to get a sex change — well, kind of. The vet was getting rid of my dear Pudgie’s pole and widening his hole so the urine could pass.
It wasn’t the cost of the operation I was nervous about but the complications. The side effects of urethrostomy may include urinary tract infections, incontinence, or rectal prolapse — which sounds like my Uncle Harry’s health issues.
As I contemplated the surgery, I noticed a man with a trucker hat staring at me. It wasn’t just a stare but an evil eye. His pit bull was on a leash and as ugly as his owner. The dog had gnarly open sores on its back and a droopy right eye. And I was just glad that my cat was protected in the carrier.
“Hello,” I said to break the ice.
“Grrr,” his dog growled back.
“Do you know me?” I asked the man.
He continued to stare without saying a word.
“Have we met before? You keep staring as if we know each other.”
“What’s the problem with looking at somebody,” the man said. “It’s a free country — ain’t it!?”
This was Philly, and people say ain’t a lot here and are touchy — but I didn’t hold it against him. If he wasn’t going to be friendly, that’s his problem.
“Why is your dog at the vet?” I asked.
“Worms.”
“Oh. Those can be uncomfortable.”
“How about your little mouse catcher — what’s he in for?”
“Sex change.”
“What?”
The guy shook his head like he was going to have a Conservative conniption.
“Just kidding. He has a crystal buildup that blocks his urine flow, and they must remove his penis.”
He shook his head again until his trucker hat fell off.
“You liberals are all alike,” he said, “Always trying to cut off our gonads. If it’s not the government — it’s your cat’s sex organs.”
“How do you know I’m a liberal?” I asked.
“You’re wearing a Bernie shirt — that’s a dead giveaway.” And he started to laugh until he coughed up some mucous.
“That’s a Bernie Williams T-shirt, a retired Yankee player,” I said. “I’m from New York.”
“Oh, that figures. All you New Yorkers are a bunch of whiny communists.”
“If I may ask, why don’t you like liberals?”
He gave me the evil eye again without saying a word. And his dog began scratching his hindquarters while making painful guttural sounds.
A vet assistant called me into the doctor’s office. Pudgie whimpered and shook the carrier, trying to escape.
“Settle down, Pudgie,” I said. “You’ll be good as new soon. When this is all over, I’ll get you some of those Liver Snaps you like at PetsMart.”
Pudgie looked at me like he didn’t give a shit about the Liver Snaps — but wanted to get the hell home and hide.
And as I left the examining room without my beloved cat, the man with the pit bull was talking to a slovenly woman, complaining about how liberals want to change everybody’s sex, and pretty soon, the whole world’s going to be one gender — and then the communists will move in, and we’ll be taken over by the Russians.
“If that happens,” I interrupted, “I hope we’re all female.”
And the pit bull growled, and the man snarled as I left the vet’s office, hoping my cat survived the surgery.
© 2022 Mark Tulin
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