The life of Ophelia

I have a cat. Her name is Ophelia. We got her as a kitten from the Humane Society nearly four years ago. She was so little and sweet and lovey. We found out later that she has an upper respiratory infection and we had to give her all this medication to help her get better - which she did.

Once she was better I wanted to change her name from 'Ophelia' to 'El Diablo Gato' because she was truly 'The Devil Cat'. She would attack us, claws and teeth barred, and purr the whole time. She would get on everything, no matter what precaution we took. One day we came home to see half our glasses on the floor and a little tail swinging happily from the cupboards where the glasses usually stay - we decided to child proof our house. We didn't even have a child.

The reason I say this is because today I had to take her to the vets to get her shots and declawed. I know, many people think getting cats declawed is cruel, but to be honest: better than the alternative. You see, Carolyn is pregnant and due in December. Ophelia likes to claw things and people. Math = clawed baby. She was ok with Aidan as a baby because she was still young and there where two adults to watch out for that. But now she's older, crankier and there will be two kids so we can't keep an eye on the cat. And she's destroying everything in the house: furniture, carpet, cloths, my nice shiatsu chair ... everything.

When I put her in the cage my heart broke. She looks at me like I just stomped on her and gave me the saddest little meow ever.

meow?

It was like saying, "WTF man! Get me outta here! Don't leave me! Take me with you .. save me!!"

Sorry kitty. I'll see you tomorrow.