As of this afternoon, we officially have no womb to swing a cat...

Yes, that shaven patch can mean only one of two things. Either Shimmy's been spayed, or Amelie's got her hands on my hair clippers. And luckily for anyone with whiskers, it's the former. Shimmy's lost the ability to have kittens, and I've lost seventy quid, but I think we'll both be happier in the long run.

On the downside, any expectations I had of her calming down a bit, seem to have been dashed already. When I picked her up from the vet at 5pm, they said that she won't be back to normal until 24 hours after the operation. I was told she could be dopey, grumpy, sleepy and at least three more of the seven dwarves. They also weren't expecting her to eat much.

Well they clearly don't know our Shimmy. Within five minutes of getting back, she was chasing Chloe down the hallway, playing with her bandage like a mouse, and attempting to eat everything in sight.

Well, I say everything. She wouldn't touch this, obviously...

That's the expensive food the vet gave me to take home. And she's treating it like poison. I swear she actually made a face when she tried it. But she's successfully eating everything else, whether I want her to or not. I have to take her back tomorrow for a check-up. And at this rate I'll be leaving her there.