Perhaps somewhat belated, anyway back when I had a home in NM, I adopted a stray little black kitten, solid black. He grew up to be a nice cat.(most supersticious americans shun black cats)
His name was Fuck.
When he got old enough I had my vetenarian pal come over and we gelded Fuck. The doc had me do it. He provided the anesthetics of course. But is wasn't a snip snip afair. It was kinda like starting a lawn mower.
We cut open the scrotum grabbled the testicles with some forceps and yanked like starting an outboard.
After that was when he got his name, Fuck. Sorry Fuck no fucky fucky for you!
So I kept Fuck for a couple years or so.
He was a lovely affectionate purring machine, generaly a home body.
Then one morning I be sitting at my breakfast table and Fuck comes in, meows weakly, lies down at my feet, and dies in his next breath.
I reckon he must have eaten a bad lizard or something.
I take my dead cat, Fuck, out to the high desert mesa, and place him under a small pile of rocks, and ponder whatever it was we pondered back then.
I still feel a little sad about Fuck!
Adios Fuck!