Where are you, you sad ginger cat with no tail?
For you usually appear demanding sex, and food that’s not stale.
Proclaiming your desire by your high pitched wail
That you need to stay strong and so very male.
 
You have a nasty round wound on your sorry head,
A sweet puzzled expression, on your scratched scarred face
And a limp that should be immediately treated.
Have you gone elsewhere to be fondled and petted?
 
Is it that you know it’s in my mind to sedate you, catch you,
Dispatch you to the skilled vet who is kind and primed
To sedate you, castrate you, immunise you, worm you;
To protect you.
 
At last I have you, despite your ignoring the pill so carefully crushed,
I mixed with the fish in the cat dish.
The vet gave me two, tiny bright yellow tablets;
I was tempted to think one was for you, the other for me!
 
I furtively lured you into the closed off empty room.
Exhausted, from flinging yourself from wall to floor
You sank thankfully into the cat-box through its inviting open door.
I could not believe my luck and swiftly snapped it shut.
 
Trapping you was an immense achievement;
As if on safari, bagging a fearsome sick tiger.
I know you let me pick you up in the past,
But you took one look at the box and scrambled away fast.
 
Perhaps it’s me who is wrong and unkind
About your sex drive I choose to be blind.
For after your operation, sex won’t be a thought;
Absent from your life forever, but other pleasures you have bought.
No more to go a roving, striving for a little fun;
You will now stretch out with the other two, and enjoy the mid-day sun.