Animals develop more quickly than human beings. In the year I spent with the cats I remained practically the same. They, however, changed remarkably. From two scrawny and skittish kittens they turned into teenagers, and then into young adults at the height of their beauty. Hormones began to dominate them as did mine during my period. Milton felt compelled to urinate in the corners and on the houseplants, and the first time Greta went into heat she did so with very little discretion, mewing in high-pitched, frenzied tones, lifting her tail and rubbing her vulva against every furniture edge she could find. It was shocking to see her that way, and I felt sorry for her. The unfulfillment of her desire was as overwhelming as its intensity. Unlike my periods, which lasted about five days, Greta’s seemed to never end. If I was sensitive to her condition, Milton was especially so. He’d circle her, constantly pursue her and try to mount her, to ease once and for all so much frustration. But Greta cruelly rejected his advances and we all suffered for it. Cultures that believe in reincarnation almost always consider it a reward to be born among the male ranks and a disadvantage to reincarnate into the female. Seeing Greta, normally so composed, so overpowered by reproductive hormones made me think that this seemingly misogynistic and primitive theory might not be so absurd. It was then I decided to take my cat to the vet. I wanted to see if it was possible to give her some relief and maybe a contraceptive, so she could go roam the neighborhood rooftops as she pleased. However, what the doctor suggested as a solution for all the evils and dangers my pet faced seemed to me excessively cruel. According to him, the best thing to do was cut out her ovaries, without delay, before she was full grown.

“And leave her sterile forever?” I asked, horrified. “That’s why you became a vet?”

The man remained in guilty silence as I looked at my cat, defenseless on the table. I told myself that neither one of us could choose for her; she had the right to be a mother, at least one time. What other mission was there in animal life, I asked myself, but reproduction? To take away her ovaries was to deny her the chance to fulfill it.

Furious, I walked out of the clinic without explanation. As I was about to get into the taxi the vet appeared in the doorway and shouted:

“Keep her inside, at least for this month. She’s too young for a successful pregnancy.”

I returned to the apartment with the incandescent Greta in her cage. I was not about to let anyone but nature decide her fate and that of her descendants.