Caution: pussy pictures included

I'd say the mood needs to be lightened up in this room, and I can't think of a better mood lightener than a cat's nutsack.




When Roo had his emergency anusectomy (OK, OK, it was a rupture produced by an infected anal sac...they didn't really remove his anus), the vet had to shave the poor kitty's entire backside. Roo walked around for days with a bare pink ass, his empty nutsack nekkid for the world to ridicule as he tried, repeatedly and in vain, to back his way out of the protective cone he was forced to wear to keep from gnawing at his stitches.

We took the big fluffy boy in to have his stitches out yesterday, and now he's livin' the cone-free life. He's one cat who does not lack self esteem - when you praise him, he gets this totally blissful, smug look on his face, and he flits his tail and struts, the better for us to worship his natural glory. This boy is very proud of himself, and with good reason. He's a pimp daddy, a ferocious killer of catnip-laced puffballs, and dominator of Eeyore.




Last night Roo was lounging about on the bed, receiving an abundance of tag-team lovin' from Jess and me, when he happened to flip his tail straight up in the air and turn his back to me in mid-strut. Now, you have to understand that in a house with twelve cats, you will quickly become numb to the fact that the kitties delight in shoving their asses in your face. I am totally unfazed by the starfish closeup now. But as I reached out to give him a pat on the back, I looked over idly and realized that some of his fur has already started to grow in on the shaven areas. His sparkling pink skin now had a thin layer of white fur sprouting up. And then my eyes locked on two extra-grown tufts of white...on his empty nutsack.

It's true. For some reason, the fur had grown especially fast on his candy jar. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Had I really sunk that low, that I couldn't stop staring at the fresh fur on a cat's genitals?

It's not that I was transfixed by the nutsack itself...it's just that the two healthy tufts of fur were oddly fascinating, like the Rogaine had kicked in selectively to ensure that his nutsack would never be cold. And not only that...

I finally blurted out to Jess, "Oh my gawd, Roo's nutsack looks like Colonel Sanders!"


















She couldn't argue with me. And she didn't. In fact, she only encouraged my down-to-the-bones wrongness by suggesting that we could make a little white linen suit to hang from Roo's ass to complete the picture, and then perhaps I could take it into Photoshop and add the caption "Finger Lickin' Good."

Do you see how she only adds gasoline to the bonfire of my retardation? Just like that, Roo was out of stitches and we were in stitches. Every time he'd turn his back to me, I'd see the little white tufts and would instantly collapse in a heap of completely inappropriate and juvenile laughter.

If the fear of diarrhea hadn't already done it, this incident would have completely put me off of eating at KFC.

Epilogue: As I was writing this, Roo vomited loudly on my sock monkey sheets, and as I was cleaning that up, he barfed on my slippers. Guess I'm cancelling my construction of the tiny white linen suit.