In Which I am a Neuter

Thursday my testicles were removed. I am unconcerned.

My children are grown and out of the house. As an older man, my testicles produced less sperm, and my body less testosterone anyway. Although they were of some sentimental value, they are also part of my physical disguise, and therefore unnecessary to my human life. In all honesty, I found them to be an unwelcome distraction, as my developmental stages of mid-kittenhood are fraught with paranoia and insanity. Concentration on anything but the most mundane of activities, such as chasing string, chewing on cardboard, or licking myself had become an exercise in futility.

I still retain the sexual urge and enjoyed myself this afternoon with Blankie. The humans have declared that since I produce no seed, they do not care what I do, as long as I do it at least two feet away from them. I tested this theory when the female was lying under the blanket watching her wretched Simpsons DVDs--her horrified cry and immediate vacation of the area when she realized I was mounting her leg through the blanket were immensely gratifying.

Now I rest.