This morning Trev, as a first act on his birthday, took our cat Tilly for the big fix. We starved her all last night and kept her locked inside (which she hated). Trev said she was very docile about getting into the carrier and very quiet in the car.
About an hour after we dropped her off, the Vet called.
“I’m sorry, Mr Judson,” the Vet said, “We can’t spay your cat. Because she’s a boy.”
Ha ha, whoops. I had expressed uncertainties about Tilly’s sex when Trev first brought her– sorry, him–home as a kitten, but Trev gave me some side-eye and insisted the painkillers I was on at the time were probably making me see things that weren’t there.
Turns out I did see things– they just won’t be there much longer.
A question for the Internet: what do we call this little boy when he comes home? We’ve thought of Billy, Telly, Timmy– none really feel right. We know it will be difficult to get Bean to use the cat’s new name, so something similar to the old name is probably best.