Mr. Tig is a sloppy drunk.
When I got him home from the vet after being snipped, for the next 24 hours, Tig simply would not leave me alone. He napped, and woke, and napped, but every time he woke, he had to climb in my lap, sit on my shoulder sleep in my lap, or cuddle with me in some way. It got extremely annoying, as I do have to work during the day, and I really don’t have time for a slightly woozy cat to tell me how much he adores me and then pass out. (He reminded me of some guys I used to know back in the day. But he’s much cuter.)
And for all the gentlemen out there cringing at the thought of Tig being snipped, I found out that you should be cringing. They remove ’em completely. One little slit in the skin and pop, pop, Tig’s singing soprano in the choir. (Aren’t you glad that castratos went out of fashion centuries ago?) ((I think I’m getting that Hulk-M-S. I’m enjoying tormenting you far too much.)
Well, anyway. Tig is a sweet little boy, and I think he’s going to maintain that sweetness now that I’ve had the vet cut off the well of testosterone, or at least, most of it. And Tig is absolutely none the worse for wear. He barely noticed they were gone.
And now, for the palate cleanser: I couldn’t decide between these two photos. So you get them both. (They were taken Thursday, after Le Snip.)
Tig with a splash of color
Tig the Smug
See? Nothing’s changed.
Nope, nothing’s changed at all. Including my Tig addiction.
I hope that “back in the day,” your dates weren’t “snipped.” That would surely make them pass out.
chsw
Still handsome as ever. I’m rather fond of him myself.