Climax in a Cat-Lady Career

Have you ever witnessed, or perhaps even done something that you knew was pretty gross, but you were too busy being fascinated by it to be grossed out? Maybe you watched videos of appendectomy's (my Dad did this after his), or dissected something. Me? I pulled a dead kitten out of a live cat. Bear with me here, cuz it 'bout ta git reeeeeaaal cat-lady. And also, if you're, like, a PETA-type person, then you should just go. Oh, and if you are grossed out by the dead kitten thing, also leave. Leave five minutes ago. I am a grossly insensitive person when it comes to animals. Sorry, not sorry.

So, a couple of evenings prior to my story, Sister and I were out in the barnyard and we noticed that one of the yearling cats which had gotten pregnant had a water bag out. Now, don't go thinking that I keep birthing records of all twenty or so cats that run around the place. I do not. Nor do I check up on stuff. Sister just randomly noticed, and I took note. I've actually only seen a cat give birth once, and that was to hairless, premature kits, so it wasn't exactly a Kodak moment then, either.

Anyway, the next morning I noticed the cat again, and she had that walk going on that was surprisingly similar to a bovine's "my-partially-birthed-young-is-sticking-out-of-me" look. Which makes sense, because her partially-birthed young was sticking out of her. As soon as I saw her, I knew from years of calving out cows that she was in trouble. I began making plans in my head about what I would do to get the kitten out.

First I would take the cat some food to get her to stay put (I clearly have no concept of the pain involved in birthing). Next I would pull the kitten out (again, no concept of birthing pain).

It was a very un-layered plan, which I thought would work perfectly. I just needed some sort of barrier between myself and the amniotic-soaked dead kitten head which protruded from the nether-regions of the cat. I don't like getting my hands dirty.

I remembered that I stored some latex gloves in the tack shed (for washing animals; I don't like to get my hands wet sometimes, either. I am a delicate flower), so I retrieved those and set to work coaxing the cat into a death grip.

This particular cat was Aiden Two. She was a real piece of work. There was a time when she would lock onto my hand and try to kill it when it got near her. Our relationship improved to the point where she liked to be scratched, so would expect me to sneak up and pet her without her knowing I was petting her.

Anyway, I sneaked up as per our ritual and managed to grab her scruff. Let me just give you all a heads up: latex does not stand up to claws! Or teeth!! Or cats in general!!! As a preliminary check to make sure she was, indeed, having trouble, I got a look at the kitten's head. Its tongue was sticking out all swollen and purple which is a pretty clear sign that it's been there quite a while.

I gave one small tug on the kit and the cat freaked out, loosening my grip. Regrouping, I tried again, giving another tug. I realize now that I was underestimating how much a uterus can push. My sympathetic (emphasis on 'pathetic') tugs were doing probably one tenth of what she was at the peak of her labor. And she's a tiny cat.

Anywho, at this point, she freaked (understandably), and managed to get her front and back claws up to the hand that was holding her scruff. I was able to avoid hand-shreddage by dropping her. For a fleeting moment as she fell, I nurtured the hopeful thought that the impact might squirt the thing out. Once again, no respect for how little that pressure would compare to the mad, raving uterus that abides within us females. After that, I went to the house for breakfast, after which I asked my dad's advice.

"You should have locked her up somewhere so that you could find her again," he said disapprovingly. Did he think I didn't think of that??

"Yeah, I tried... did I mention (I know I did) that she's a crazy-as Hellfire cat that preys on my appendages and is currently being fueled by a crap-ton of hormones and pain?"

"Well, I don't know how you're going to find her since you didn't lock her up..."

"I tried to lock her in the tack shed, but all I had was latex gloves, and she's kind of a crazy cat. She's basically feral. Her mother was feral. She comes from a long line of feral cats from Grandpa. All his cats are crazy. You've seen them; this is Grandpa's fault. Blame Grandpa!"

You might be thinking that this is probably not the actual dialogue. Well, you are right. Dad's side is pretty accurate, and really, I just had to keep reiterating the crazy cat bit. So it's essentially the same.

I suggested giving her a drop of Metacam, which is a livestock painkiller. For cattle. It may have knocked poor Aiden Two out permanently, and probably (definitely) would have inhibited any possibility of helpful contractions, so Dad vetoed my idea. He told me to go out with Sister, take some heavy leather gloves, and told me that I'd have to pull hard.

He missed the bit where the whole point of my asking his advice was a passive aggressive plea that he come out and deal with it himself.

And so, Sister and I went forth. Equipped with Gloves of Leather and Latex and Coats of much - very much - Trepidation.

After a while of cat calling (haha), we found her pretty much where I had dropped her. I grabbed her scruff, then asked Sister which job she would like: holding or pulling. For the second time that day, my passive aggressive bait was not taken, and Sister donned her heavy gloves to hold the cat.

Before I even had a chance to really pull (I was still sympathy-tugging), Aiden wriggled out of Sister's grip. I could have guessed that would happen. Cat's are pretty darn difficult to hold, so we called out the big guns. Brother was on his way out to do some yard work, so Sister and I called him over to assist us three damsels in distress (one of the three being a cat and in a different and far greater distress). Brother collected Gloves of Welding from the shop. He was equipped better than either of us in more ways than one; besides big, long, thick, Gloves of Welding, he had Nerves of steelier Steel than either of the two human damsels... though the cat damsel still wins in that department because anything that's giving birth always wins in that department.

I told the Siblings to stay back while I sneaked Aiden into my grip again. When I had accomplished that, Brother moved quickly, securing the cat's front legs and head. Aiden did much biting and clawing, but could not penetrate Brother's Gloves. Sister is a bit of a sissy and pretty much dithered around until it was quite safe. She then secured the back legs and informed us bravely, "I've got the back legs." Thank you, Sister. You are a hero.

After they had the cat secured, I thought better of hinting at Brother to pull the kitten out. Two ignored passive aggressive hints were enough for one day. I had to do this. If this were a corny cat film, this would be my fate. My destiny.

To save you all from too much information, I got the kitten out, successfully attaining Cat-Lady level 43046721.

I saw that cat a few days later, and she seemed to be back to her old self. She even allowed me to sneak up and pet her.