Identity Crisis

"We’re home!” Andy announced, with the crate in his hand.

We rushed to greet him, or more accurately, to greet Princess. She looked at us and let out a soft meow. We got her out of the crate and examined her tail stump. Her long and beautiful tail was gone. The short stump was wrapped in gauze. I saw shiny reflection in Andy’s eyes.

She came home one day and the tail was broken. The vet had to amputate it.

Andy asked me why anyone would be so cruel to do that. I didn’t know what to tell him. One thing was certain: it wasn’t done by another cat. She was a big girl, fed by her previous owner with beef. It had to be a human with some kind of instrument – maybe a broom - who did this.

While Princess purred and rubbed us with her head as if she didn’t realize something was amiss, Andy told us what transpired at the vet’s office.

They showed him Princess’ x-ray that everything was fine, except the tail was gone. They gave him the medication for post surgery care and instructions on what to do and when to go back. He paid the bill and, as he was about to leave, the vet asked him:

"By the way, do you know your Princess is actually a Prince?”

"What?!” we yelled.

She was given to us by her previous owner who had to leave the country for a long period of time. We were told that Princess was her “daughter,” and that she was a spade female cat. That’s why Andy named her Princess.

After we picked ourselves up from the floor and wiped the tears off our cheeks from laughing so hard, Andy added, “No wonder he was peeing all over the house and tearing the carpet up. He was acting out his identity crisis!”


(In loving and laughing memories of Princess, who had mistaken identity while we had her.)