Iris was spayed yesterday. I was worried about the process, moreso than for our other cats. For some reason, I have emotionally tied myself to Iris in a similar way to how I did with Whisper years ago. And Whisper ultimately broke my heart when her little body gave out after her spaying operation.
Iris came home from the vet acting like nothing had happened at all- in fact, she was acting like she had to catch up on everything she couldn’t do for the eight hours she was at the vet. I’ve tried to slow her down a bit, but it is a losing battle.
She has shown no signs of discomfort. The surgery site itself is tiny: barely an inch long incision. Iris is running around, playing with toys, eating like nothing has changed at all.
I’ll start feeling “safe” in four or five days. Intellectually, I know that Iris comes from completely different circumstances than Whisper. Whisper was born to a malnourished mother, starved during her first few weeks locked in a horse stall, and burdened by malformed organs as a result. Iris, on the other hand, has had every possible advantage, and all the evidence is that her health is perfect. Right now I’m trying not to think fearful thoughts. And I’m enjoying the exuberance that is Iris…