People.

This needs to start off with a disclaimer of : judge me not.

So yesterday was the day — the best orange tabby’s ever in the whole history of orange tabbydom had their neuter appointments.

I was overjoyed, The BF felt a bit … nostalgic/devastated for them. I told The BF to get over that, stat. No one wants spraying cats, regardless of how damn cute and furry they are.

Anyway. I go to pick the little loves up and as I’m waiting, I look at the paperwork. I skim both but happen to catch on Johnny Barnes that both the male and female box were checked.

Naturally, I thought, I’ve been blessed with a hermaphrodite cat! OMG! No one will believe it!

I, somewhat breathless with anticipation ask, Johnny Barnes — both gender boxes are marked … is he …

And before I could answer my dreams of being a 1%er in vet study groups and books were crushed.

Yes, Johnny Barnes IS A GIRL.

What. The. Hell. People. I don’t think I need to make myself feel better and build myself up here by rattling off how many cats I’ve rescued — we just know it’s been a shit ton. And out of that shit ton, there hasn’t been one — not a single one — that I confused the gender on.

I am a terrible mother. Do you think she’s too traumatized? Do you think massive amounts of pink will help ease the trauma? I should have known! She’s always taken a rather keen interest to my bath products and makeup. Not like I have a lot of either of those, minus lipsticks, but she’s very into bright fall color shades right now.

She was trying to tell me all along and what did I do? Turned a blind eye! Told her how handsome she was, how she was the best orange tabby boy in the whole entire Universe and then some.

Yes, I think this def calls for a shopping spree of pink at Petsmart.

I can’t very well change her name now, she knows Johnny Barnes, but I have been supplementing with Johnita. I can always count on an “-ita” to feminize for me.