The kitten grew into a hulking sheath of muscle from nose to tail. Several vets checked to see if he was really neutered (he was) because he was so heavily muscled. He also bent their needles on a fairly regular basis.
I didn’t declaw him when he was a kitten. Not every cat needs it and I’d rather not do it if my furniture and house aren’t being destroyed. He wasn’t at all destructive to the house, but he was to me. My favorite boy toy and I could not clip his nails. He screamed and clawed and twisted around so bad that I was afraid of hurting him. I started taking him to the vet and that didn’t work either.
The last time I took him to be clipped, he’d reached around my shoulder and hooked his front claws into my bicep so deeply that he couldn’t retract them. He ruined my shirt and bra, left me bleeding with deep puncture wounds, and became a deeply traumatized cat who couldn’t be caught to be taken to the vet.
I declawed his front claws. I was reluctant to do it, but was tired of him hurting me so badly. I left him at the vet for a few extra days so they could give him pain medications. He hadn’t been overly affectionate before I declawed him – he was already over two years old – but he was so happy to see me when I came to get him. He was much more affectionate after that, the first time I realized that he truly did love me back.
By the way, this decision was not made lightly. I don’t mind lively debate in my blog or the blogs of others, but I do object to name calling and flaming. This blog is about my life and this was a decision I made. It was a good decision – the kitten was a much better pet to not have his nails clipped. The trauma of being declawed (for him) was less than the trauma of being clipped.
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I am a backyard adventurer, philosopher and observer, recording my life in journals and photographs. Visit my blog at www.livingtheseasons.com or write me at dogear6 [at] gmail [dot] com.