[the final fertility dance]

It's almost eleven at night and I have just arrived back at the apartment from an evening of waitressing. As I prepare to enter the bathroom and wash my face, brush my teeth, etc., I know I must be certain to close the door as quickly as I open it and slide on through within a matter of seconds, as the frisky kittens full of fertile fiestiness will attempt to make their great escape from their evening quarters.

Our bathroom has become this nighttime lockup for them, as we've had no other choice - unless you consider a cat urinating on your legs when you wake up, a choice. Or a cat urinating on every blanket including that new beautiful down comforter, a choice. It's sad that we must force them away to the tiny dwelling free from soft surfaces and pee-worthy squishable fabrics, but the pungent fluid has touched so many surfaces, that The Boyfriend and I no longer trust them and their bodily functions, nor do we feel capable of letting go of that fear. That's right. We live in fear of the urine. Desperate, agonizing fear. The dozens of loads of laundry that I have done in the past month are proof that the stress caused by heat for these precious dolls, is immense and out of control. Poor darlings want to snuggle and get attention and yet, they feel the urge to pee on the very people doing the nurturing. It's a sad sad world.

So, to the point of this posting. Charlie and Roxie are in lockup for one more night. They have not eaten since before 8 p.m. They have no idea that their ovaries are about to meet the human hand, nor do they understand that tomorrow, when they are in post-op care with The Boyfriend and I and a litter box full of shredded newspaper, that they are finally free from the fertility bonds. That they will (hopefully) no longer crave the male companionship they've so longed for...and meowed for...and screeched for....and bolted out the apartment door everytime it's opened and run for dear sexual life down the dead end hall where they've only flirted with new hallway carpet and different apartment doors, perhaps hiding their other feline friends.

We will not look at tomorrow as an end to their childhood or adulthood or sexual revolution years, but will instead stare full speed ahead into a future where kitties can be kitties without all the grown up responsibilities of dating and reproducing. We will celebrate tomorrow as their independence day. They will once again be free to be frisky and playful and fiesty...all in the name of curiosity.

Good luck Roxie Tyler and Charlie Bella. We love you babies.