Day before yesterday, Henry got fixed. Not that he was broken, I was just trying to avoid any little Henrys, if you can imagine anything littler than Henry.
I know you may be thinking, How can he possibly be big enough to be getting fixed already? Or maybe you're thinking, Geez Louise, is she really going to talk about that kitten again? But the rule nowadays is as long as you weigh two pounds, you are big enough to get neutered. And also, if it's my blog, I get to discuss this kitten ad nauseum.
I looked it up on Google, because as usual I do not know what I did before Google. Was I able to form a thought or an opinion? Anyway, they said when you neuter a kitten really young, the recovery time is remarkably brief.
He had to be gone overnight and our house was depressingly devoid of ridiculousness Tuesday night. It was so calm and insane-kitty free. Last night when I picked him up, and he looked so tiny in his big kitty crate, which reads "Winston" across the top (all of our cat crates have the names of our cats across the top from when we had to fly them here from LA), they told me that I had to limit Henry's activity.
He is a two-and-a-half month old kitten. Limit his activity.
Also, they said not to feed him much, because he may throw it up.
He slept in the car on the way home, which was a relief. When we got home, the other pets gathered like the three wise men to see who was emerging from the carrier, and as soon as I opened that crate, out bopped Henry.
"HI!" he seemed to say. "I'M HOME! WHERE'S THE DING-DANG FOOD?" He ZOOMED! over to the food bowl.
"Henry, watch your movement!" I called after him. He seemed ravenous. I let him eat for maybe 30 seconds and he meowed angrily when I pulled him off the food. He ZOOMED! after Tallulah. "Henry, please," I said. I put him in the spare room with a litter box, and he mow mow mow mow mowed for an hour, so I let him out.
Within seconds, Henry was leaping on both cats and the dog, and the dining room chairs, and he was back at the food bowl again. It's like he has no clue he is singing soprano. I'm gonna put him in the spare room while I'm at work today, but I know he's gonna be irked. HE SEEMS PERFECTLY FINE. How can he be perfectly fine? The woman at work who had her appendix out has to be gone for four weeks! He had surgery yesterday and he is hanging from the ceiling like a bat.
He's having a ball. And yet he isn't.