Things are often quite different than we believe. Our kitten Nurrr is an excellent example.
The little Egg asked us for a kitten for her sixth birthday last year.
Of course her demands were not as simple as that: the kitten has to be grey, preferably a pure-bred Russian blue cat… and it has to be “a boy”.
We managed to buy a somewhat smelly grey kitten from someone with an unwanted litter – just a cat, nothing with papers or a breed history or anything.
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And the seller assured us that it is a male.
We named it Nurrr – I like it if someone can pronounce their own name and “nurrr” is his favourite word – and took it home to the delight of little Egg.
I’m a dog person but to me, this kitten is an absolute delight.
When I recently sat up in pain with middle-ear infection in the early morning hours every night, Nurrr was the little grey nurse who comforted me.
And, systematically, we developed a very special bond.
Until last week, when he started spending his evenings outside, crying like a baby.
“We might have a problem,” the lovely Snapdragon told me. “I think he’s looking for a boyfriend.”
“We live in 2023,” I told her.
“We don’t judge. I support him in whatever his preferences are.” “That’s not what I mean,” Snapdragon said.
“I think he’s a girl.” I took Nurrr to the vet yesterday morning.
“What do we have here?” the vet asked. “I don’t know,” I said.
“I’ve always believed he’s a male kitten, but he can also be female. As a matter of fact, he can even be a little skunk, judged by the smell.”
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The vet pawed the cat and assured me: “He’s a girl. And no, he’s not a skunk.”
I booked him in to be sterilised, but I voiced my concerns: “When I walked into your rooms, there was a couple who cried. But to be fair, the man had his credit card in his hand and was about to pay the bill, which can explain his tears.”
“I think Nurrr is a very special little cat…” I’ll have to go and fetch him this afternoon.
I don’t think I have to confuse the rest of the family with the details about Nurrr’s gender. Boys will be boys…
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