Good neighbor boot camp continues as I am once again forced to have a chat with my neighbor George.
Bertha and Oscar seem to love playing together. George still insists on walking Bertha down the street. The dogs still discuss the situation... Loudly.
A familiar smell told me I was going to have a talk with George. Poor dear. He is so proud of Bertha. He actually smooches with her. George loves the loud purring and meows as the cat rubs against him.
All of that is fine, but I have news for George, Bertha is a Bert. You would think a retired policeman from New York would be able to SEE that Bertha has a little extra under the tail. It is clear that Bertha has been keeping a secret from George.
I see him headed this way, with Bertha on a leash. I still think it is funny the way George swishes a little when he walks. The bullet wound he received as a cop in New York gave him his special walk. Bella has spotted them too. I am going to close the doggy door while he is here. Oscar is still asleep in the cat tree on the back of the dryer.
I have donuts, coffee cake, and coffee or hot chocolate to drink. That should take care of the refreshments.
Knock, knock. That sure sounds a lot better the Bang, Bangs he used to do at my front door. "Good morning George. Come right on in and make yourself comfortable."
"Jane, I was more curious than anything else when I got your invitation." George was making himself comfortable on the sofa.
"There are treats on the coffee table, what do you want to wash it down with George. I have coffee and hot chocolate, or fruit juice, I even have milk. Name your poison."
"I wish you would not put it that way. I guess I'll have some coffee, black with a little sugar." I can see as I come in with the coffee that he has a napkin with three donuts on it. Maybe he thinks I am going to steal one. Funny man.
"I want to discuss Bertha. George there is no way to say this but straight out. Bertha is a Tom Cat. He is a Bert." I looked at George as he tries to swallow his donut bite and a sip of hot coffee while shaking his head, NO. "Have you not noticed the pungent smell around him now?"
"Bertha goes through this every Spring, Jane. I should get her spayed, so she will stop having to suffer so much. Bertha is a lady. She is not a boy."
I walked over and picked Bertha up. I stroked her, scratched her under the chin. Then I walked over to George and raised Bertha's tail. "What do you think those are George?"
"That's just a couple of little tumors she has."
"George, Bertha needs to go to the vet for an attitude adjustment. Let me show you one more thing." I sat down with Bertha in my lap on her back. I gently pressed on either side of her tumors and out popped what my grandmother would call the conductor. "George, Bertha is a Bert. There is no doubt about it." I cannot believe I am seventy, retired and explaining the difference between boys and girls to a retired New York policeman. No wonder he walks with a swish... That was not kind and I do apologize. Heck, he does not even know he has a swish. "It is easy to get confused about the sex of a cat, George."
"He is spraying. That is why he stinks and why everything he touches stinks, including Oscar. Please tell me you will get Bert neutered. Toms are very affectionate, it is easy to see how you got confused." I said that thinking to myself. "You should, pardon the directness, know what nuts, balls, or testicles are by now." Tumors… really?"
I thought a minute about how Grandmother would have handled this. A spraying tom cat would definitely be a Hoover Dam cat or even the son of a Siberian sea cook. I think direct is best and so would Grandmother.
George turned red in the face. He put down his donuts and coffee. He held Bertha in his lap. Likewise, he gave his cat a stroke and scratch behind the ears. I think he actually shed a tear then said, "Well, Bert... It is just you and me now."
George, Bertha is not dead, she is just a boy. I am sorry to have to break the news, but the spraying is too bad not to say something. Tell me you are going to take care of this quickly. The vet is down the street. Call him now on my phone and set up an appointment.
George scrunched up his face and said, "Will it hurt, ah, ah, awe him? Will it change ah, ah, um, ah his personality?"
"No, George. It will keep him from wanting to go out and look for a female and get into fights every Spring.
"Jane, you are right. Bertha used to come back every Spring with scratches and the signs she had been in a fight. Oh, I am proud of my boy for fighting back. Bert is a real boy."
I thought to myself, OMG. I really do think men suffer because they have spent so much time looking for the missing chromosome. Now George has a proud son who fights back.
George made the appointment with the vet for later today. We chatted a bit about Loverboy and the other misfits on the Funny farm then said our goodbyes.
I watched from the window as George swished back "carrying" Bert as he kept apologizing for what he is about to do.
"Oscar... it is time for you to get a bath."
Tags: Cats Neighbors Pets
