Snip, Snip, Oh What A Relief It Is

Two years ago, we had a cat infestation on our farm.
And I'm shamed to admit that we took care of the problem in a most hideous way.

Suffice it to say, we're Americans and our technique naturally had something to do with our obsessive, inaliable right to carry a firearm wherever we tread.

For those of you who were disgusted with our population control methods, you'll be filled with schauenfraude to know that Karma has arrived and we are humbly paying our debt to feline society.

Last year, the Husband and I were eating in a little village not too far away, when Karma appeared to us in the form of a British waitress. She was a member of "Amis des Chats" which roughly translates into "Single British Women who Have Moved to France in order to Neuter the Cat Population."

The French, passionate fools that they are, do not believe in sterilizing their domestic pets. Hence, the reason 36 cats appeared at our place that fateful, deadly summer. The French, romantics that they are, believe that sterilizing an animal "alters their true personality." And the French, not feeling it's right to thwart a mammal's inaliable right to sexual expression, think it is perfectly natural for their animals to breed like Mormons. In fact they encourage their pets to express themselves in this manner by letting them roam freely and by having outlawed the proud profession of dog catcher during the Revolution.

Oh, some French progressives, like Roger, have their cats and dogs on the birth control pill. But out here in the country, many, many people put the puppies or kitties in a sack. Tie it up, and throw it in the river. Works every time. And I have to admit that it's a lot less bloody than the Dick Cheney patented method which we employed.

Karma, our waitress, warming to us once she heard that we had a farm, asked if we would be interested in taking any saved cats from her group. The Husband and I looked at each other, and probably because the waitress was so cute, the Husband smiled and replied, why yes, we would be interested.

Great, Karma replied. She would have someone contact us.

Much to the Husband's disappointment, we have never seen the nubile Karma again, and the Amis that contact us appear to be the age of Karma's grandmother.

Seems no one around here has an honest to goodness dilapidated, mouse-infested barn any more. They've all been purchased by British ex-pats who convert them into gites or storage sheds for their massive collections of gin and scotch, and so our hovel has become the place of last resort for wild, sterilized cats who refuse to reform and become the fat, lazy house cat that single British women fantasize about.

We've been averaging a new, freshly sterilized cat-a-month since we met Karma. The cat arrives in a cage. I'm instructed by the Amis that I'm to keep the cat in the cage for three days; but the feces situation quickly becomes quite sticky because the cats don't have a big enough litter area in the cage. I clean the little litter ice cream container lid the Amis provide, but the feces encrusted cage is a bit more difficult to master. And cats go crazy when they have their own feces sticking to them, so I feel obliged to let the suffering cat out after a mere day in captivity.

The cats hang around the periphery of our woods for a while, eating baby ducks, and then take off.

We have a cute black and white cat in our barn who sleeps with the sheep and plays with the dogs. He often approaches me, but won't let me pet him.

Last night I recieved a call from one of the Amis that another cat will arrive this morning. This one likes to be petted . . .but failed miserably during her trial period as a house cat.

Thanks to the teachings of the Amis, (Especially noteworthy: Willie, Fifth Chapter, Verse Twenty) I've learned that I can live in harmony with sterilized cats.

This revelation got me to thinking, which as the Husband can attest, is a very dangerous thing.

But in this case, I am certain to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

To solve the abortion conundrum once and for all, the United States must enact a law that requires all young men to report to a local sperm depot upon the first sproutings of pubic hair. These young men would be required to jack-off to videos of Britney Spears concert videos. The resulting ejaculate would be put in the deep freeze for their future bride(s).

Then, snip, snip, the young men would be sterilized.

The idea is so brilliant in its simplicity! It worked beautifully for Lance Armstrong. There's no reason it can't be applied to all the young men of this great nation.

This solution would give the young men absolute control over their reproductive rights . . .they would no longer be at the mercy of treacherous teen-age girls who refuse to keep their knees crossed, or those middle-aged NEA members whose taxpayer-funded, union contracts require that they seduce our young males during school hours.

American men would finally have FREEDOM OF CHOICE.

By golly, we're living in the twenty-first century and with the miracle of IVF it's about time we took the bold step of liberating all men: by giving them the freedom to express themselves sexually without the fear of marriage or decades of onerous, unwarranted, state mandated child support.

I urge all of you to join me in writing our elected officials and in the strongest words possible, urge them to vote for the "Young American Men's Health and Freedom Act of 2006."