Lauren Lejeune

Last week, I had a very public and very embarrassing experience occur in the vet office. 

A few months back, I had scheduled in for my cat to get fixed. It was time, as she had learned how to use the dog door and ever since then she’s been unstoppable. Disappearing all hours of the night, coming home whenever she pleased like an unruly teenager. Every once in awhile, she could be found in the bushes, waiting to jump out at passing people on the sidewalk, like some sort of scary little monster. Unstoppable, untamable, she was Nyx, Lady of the Night. 

It feels horrible being the person on my block whose animals escape on a regular basis. We have since put in an underground boundary system for Kai, my red heeler, border collie mix, and he is doing great now. Thankfully, the cat sticks around the house, she just likes to sunbathe with the dogs. All fine and well, except I was not interested in potentially having kittens.

I was always feeling her belly, trying to decipher if she was pregnant or not (not that I would have any clue anyways) and looking to see if she looked fatter than normal. But nothing ever changed, and I was eagerly counting down the days until her appointment. Finally, I snatched her up and off to the vet we went. 

Dropping my animals off at the vet always makes me have the worst guilt in the world. When Kai was fixed, I picked him up and he just kept looking at me with eyes full of betrayal. I felt horrible, still do a little bit. I had the same feelings bringing Nyx into the vet. 

As the day passed and it was time to pick her up, I walked into the vet’s office, which was pretty busy. Eventually, the vet poked his head around the corner. “Are you here for your tom?” He asked me. 

I told him no. No, I was not there for a tom cat, as my cat was female. He shook his head a little, and motioned for me to follow him back. We stopped in front of a little holding kennel, and there was my girl, all huddled up in the back and looking like she was ready for blood and retribution. 

Only, she was in fact not a she, but a he. 

The vet explained to me my pivotal mistakes in cat identification, and boy was I embarrassed. I had absolutely no idea, and I felt so silly about the whole thing. Moreover, I was shocked! My girl cat, now a boy. Misgendered and still got everything he had taken from him. 

I didn’t say much else as I scooped Nyx up and left. He sat in the seat, glaring up at me the entire way home. We parted ways once inside, Nyx stumbling around to find a spot to lie down, me to the couch to reevaluate our current situation. 

I got Nyx last August. He was about 4 weeks old, had big blue eyes and had to be bottle fed. I was also told he was a girl, and I guess I never really questioned it. He had pink blankets too, and I guess in my brain he just looked like a girl. But nothing can be assumed these days, and I should have known better. 

I did feel some form of gender disappointment for the next few days. Now, I get it, it’s just a cat, but still. I’m going to have to get him some blue blankets for his bed. 

Lessons learned for this week? Never assume and learn how to properly identify boy cats.