We had to wait until December before Conan, my emotional support cat, could be neutered as our vet doesn’t perform sterilization surgeries on cats until they’re six months old. I had decided to wait until after the holidays were over to get it done because the holidays are already stressful without throwing in minor surgery aftercare for an animal.
I wasn’t sure what was in store for me because I never had a male cat neutered and Conan is such a weird cat when it comes to anything involving the vet—he’s purred when getting anal thermometers and recieved shots without making so much as a disgruntled yelp.
So far, it’s been hilarious, interesting, and frustrating.
Conan almost didn’t have a surgery because they initially couldn’t find his balls! The vet explained they couldn’t find them because not only were they super small and had an extra layer of skin, but they never fully descended. They were supposed to descend around 6-8 weeks, which was around the time we got him, and he’s seven months old right now.
He was still high as fuck from the drugs when I picked him up at lunch to bring him home and his head kept bobbing around and around. Then I had to put the Cone of Shame on him and essentially turned him into a drunk frat boy attempting to navigate a house party with a lamp shade on their head.
My husband’s emotional support cat, Scarlett, was freaked out. She slapped him with a soft paw in his face, hissed, and ran away. I thought he just smelled different to her from being at the vet for a few hours, but later noted she was only hissing when he walked or ran towards her. I eventually realized if you look at Conan from the front he looks like a floating, disembodied head in a cone. I’d be terrified, too, if I was being followed by the cat version of a Biblically accurate angel.
I stupidly assumed that Conan would be too sore to do any physical activity. I don’t think that was that wild assumption considering he had an open wound that was very sensitive (fun fact: they don’t typically put in stitches for cat neuters since the incision is so small). Nope! He was running, climbing, and generally getting into mischief. Besides wearing the cone that causes him to run into everything and his ball sack looked like it was murdered the first two days afterwards, there’s no evidence he even had a surgery.
He’s also been super cuddly in the middle of the night like he usually is. The problem is he wants to rub his face all over mine while wearing the cone. I’ve woken up in a panic because the edge of his cone would rub against my eyeball as if I told my cat, “Cut me, Mick!”
Being that he is acting like his normal kitty self, he’s been trying to groom himself like any cat would. He can’t reach because of his cone, but he sure tries really hard regardless.
He’s got to wear the cone until Monday. He doesn’t understand that he has to keep the cone on until Monday. For the most part, he’s good about keeping it on, but he figured out within two hours of putting it on that if he pushes his front paws upward on it hard enough he can get the cone off.
I can’t wait until he’s healed enough that he can get the cone off because I’m tired of being stabbed in the face in my sleep with it and him being clumsy as fuck with it on. At least he looks fucking adorable with it on.