A few months ago, I rescued a feral kitten. After many trips to the vet, a few weeks quarantined in our bathroom, two soiled comforters, a “de-stressing” regime and a lot of TLC, our kitten has fully integrated into our lives and become a loved member of our family.
During the kitten’s first checkup, the vet turned the cat over and proclaimed it a girl. And so as a girl she’s lived…until a few days ago. It was WonderWife™ who first noticed bumps around the kitten’s nether regions when the kitty was lounging on her back on our couch. I took a gander as well and sure enough, there sat a couple of furry nuggets, which either suggested that our kitten had something seriously wrong with her or she had been living a lie.
A new vet appointment confirmed that the initial vet was mistaken. Our little girl cat is really a boy.
It almost doesn’t matter now since as of this morning the kitten’s newly discovered nads are sitting on a jar in an animal hospital somewhere in the Valley. I just wonder how the Bean is going to process that he needs to now refer to his kitten as a “he.”