... Is what I imagine my kitty cat Wilbur was thinking after yesterday's events.
It was a perfectly sunny Saturday morning, and I had been out tomming all night long. (ah, what a night). I came in for a big breakfast before my daylong nap, and my person put my food bowl way up high out of my reach. She weedled and shoved me into some sort of plastic box with a handle and then we went for a ride. (doesn't she know that I don't like rides? Does she think I've turned dog?)
I swear that just this morning, I had a perfectly good set of testicles just hanging around. Absolutely nothing wrong with them. (testicle, testicle... wherefor art thou testicle...) When I woke up, there was nothing there but a sort of vacancy. An unusual breeziness. An ache.
Why would they call it "getting fixed"? They were never broken! All I know is that I started out perfect, and after I got fixed, I was all busted up and missing parts. This is soooooo messed up.
I'm going to have to go out and find myself some fig leaves or some sensible humans or something.