My Cat Steve's Testicles

I recently had to take Steve (my cat) to the vet, because when male cats reach about six months of age, they start thinking nasty thoughts and want to urinate on everything. He hadn't done any of that stuff yet, but because I agreed to the conditions the Humane Society outlined when I got him, even though he spent his first months with me purring and being an all-around good cat, I was having him neutered. A cruel punishment, but not all that unusual -- yet, anyway.

Before the castration, I had to get him up to date with his vaccinations. Apparently I had skipped on a rabies shot or two since I got him, and they aren't fond of bringing "stray cats," as the vet called Steve (I almost clocked him), into their facility.

After the Doctor had finished giving Steve his needles, a nurse came in to arrange an appointment for his emasculating operation. I had already been on the internet looking at the procedure by this point, so I just asked a follow-up question or two, just to make sure that what they planned to do was the same. At some point during her description of the operation, she said, "So when we remove the testicles, we..."

I stopped her.

"Wait, wait, you remove them?"

"Yes, we take them out."

"Oh... I was researching this, and on several of the sites I went to, they just tied a couple of knots in the cat's tubes and then sewed him back up without removing them."

She just shrugged. "Well, we take 'em."

I had only had a female cat before Steve, and she was fixed before we got her, so the whole neutering thing was new to me. But after my research, where I really did read a thing or two about them leaving the cat's testicles inside, vasectomy style, I didn't feel so bad about taking Steve to have it done. I mean, cutting a few wires is one thing, but taking his power station!? No, I had some reservations about that idea.

After taking Steve home and thinking about it a while, I decided that I wasn't going to let those monsters steal his mojo. Sure, I'd let them go through with the surgery, but there was no way they were going to throw the essence of my cat's masculinity in the trash!

Two weeks later, the day of Steve's operation arrived. I caged him up and took him in...with one additional piece of cargo.

I walked to the receptionist, introduced Steve and myself and told her why we were there. Then I asked her a couple of unusual questions.

"So, what do you typically do with the... extractions?"

"...the testicles?" she replied.

"Yes, the--testicles."

"Throw them in garbage...?"

"I see... I see. Would you mind... holding on to them for me?"

"You want us to...keep the testicles for you?"

"That's correct."

"Well, I... guess we could. I can't say we've ever had this request before."

"Great!"

I then pulled out the sanitary-looking spice jar I filled with alcohol and had knotted inside a plastic bag. "Just drop them in there!." I then added, "So, you don't anticipate there will be any problem, do you?"

"Well, like I said, we've never had this kind of request before, but I don't think there will be a problem."

At that point, some other receptionist started trying to put doubts in my head, saying stuff like, "Well, because it's an actual body part and not a tooth or, some sort of bone growth, there may be some legal issues about us giving these to you. I too had wondered if there would be any ethical or legal complications, but I somehow doubted this woman was too high on the totem pole, and was skeptical of what she was saying. When a bearded doctor stuck his head out and barked for her to get some coffee going, I totally disregarded what she had said.

Still, I wasn't too confident when I left the Animal Hospital that they'd go through with the plan.

It was early in the morning and I had to go to work. I borrowed my brother's cell phone and left the number with the hospital so they could call and inform me when Steve got out of surgery.
It was a long wait. Finally, the call came.

It was the nurse who had told me two weeks before that they remove the balls. She started telling me how everything went okay, and that Steve was "recovering nicely." In my mind, though, I was thinking, "Yes, yes, but what about the balls -- the balls?!"

"And we kept the testicles for you!" she added. "We put them in the jar you brought us."

"You did?! Fantastic! What do they look like?"

"Well, they're kind of...pink in colour."

"Pink? Really? Wow!" Did they float or sink?"

"They sank to the bottom of the jar."

"Neat! I thought they'd float."

"Nope. They sank."

"Cool!"

So that, my friends, is how Steve, despite being initially told otherwise, was able to keep his balls even though he was neutered. One of the doctors even said to me, "You know, in thirty years of practice, I have never heard the request you made today."

Amazingly, though, the nurse who brought me both Steve and his balls confessed that she had kept her cat's testicles in a jar when she had him neutered! I couldn't believe it. But still, I thought it was pretty neat.

"Eat this pinecone -- It will amuse me."

Some guy from Mastercard called me the other day, trying to get my business. It was one of those dinner hour calls that would normally tick me off, but because I had been drinking, I let the guy read his script. The deal was 1.9% interest rate for the first year. After that time, it would jump to twenty-some percent, like most cards. I didn't even entertain the idea of getting the card at the time, but in retrospect, that's a pretty small percentage. I'm sure there are loads of people who abuse that 1.9% like a college student who has been given an extension on an essay they never intended to hand in on time, anyway. I was that kind of student, but I'm not that kind of citizen. Handing in late papers still got me a diploma, but skipping on credit card payments is only going to keep me from renting apartments or test-driving cars. So anyway, it was either hang up the phone immediately, or toy with the representative a bit. I decided I would make it my mission to keep him on the line as long as possible.

My first strategy was to ask questions. One of the things he mentioned about the card was that it had price protection, so if I was ever charged more than what was necessary, I would be able to contact the company and have them credit my account. So I asked him, trying to sound somewhat normal, "If I were to buy a shotgun worth four-hundred dollars, but then found it somewhere else for one-hundred dollars, you would credit me three-hundred dollars?"

"That is correct, sir. If you were to buy a... shotgun at a certain price and then find the same item somewhere else for less, we would protect your purcase."

"For shotguns?"

"Yes, absolutely, sir -- for any item, in fact."

"Oh, good... good. Now, would it have to be the same guage, or could I replace any shotgun with a cheaper shotgun I found?"

"Well, sir, it would have to be the exact same shotgun."

"I see... I see. Gotta love shotguns!"

"...Eh, yes, sir."

Then I spent a good ten minutes upping the crazyness, babbling about other credit cards the poor guy had nothing to do with. "Now what about Discover card!? I heard that's a damn fine card!" He was patient and said, "Yes, sir, I believe it is, but unfortunately, that's only available to people in the United States."

"How many shotguns do you think I could get with a Discover card if I were an American?"

"..."

I think I spent another few minutes asking him about the benefits of traveller's cheques, too.

"Yes, those are definitely an option, sir."

After half an hour of this nonsense, he either realized I was deliberately messing with him and had no desire to get the card, or he had some sort of limit his calls had to be kept under, because he was desperate to hang up. He just interrupted my talking and said, "Okay, sir, I thank you for your time, and I hope you have a nice night."