I myself wouldn't want to even try to geld a cat. Them cats got needle-like teeth and really sharp claws. Just look what happened to ol' Ready-Freddy Rufus Rex when he needed money for beer up at the Legion Hovel and decided to make it by cuttin' cats.

Rufe had been told that their was good money in it, before you know it he'd contracted for about a dozen jobs. He managed somehow to get all twelve cats in a gunnysack an' took 'em out to the silo on the old Andersen place -- the one that Gunnar Andersen built in 1892 and which burned down in mysterious circumstances in 1910. The one out on the section they call "Drybone Desert" cuz there ain't no water even a mile straight down, you know?

Anyway, the silo was the only thing standin', mostly cuz it was make of concrete, and Rufe thought that bein' outside town it would be a good place to cut them cats. He got out his Barlow knife and honed it up and then he let the cats out of the bag.

If you combined a hurricane and a tornado and sleet storm with a mad sandblaster you might get a little bit of an idea what happened next. Let's just say that Rufe didn't fill his contracts, blood was spilt, and all Rufe would say later about it (through the holes in his bandages) was something about "goddamned door locked behind me."

Yeah, he was rescued by some boys from the Lazy O that happened to the passing by and heard the ruckus from the silo. They opened the door and said they never saw nothin' come out by a streak of fur about a hunnert yards long, and when they peeked inside there was a man-sized blood clot on the floor, moaning.

Nope. I ain't geldin' no cats.