I could just never bring myself around to snipping off Sleazy's nuts, getting him declawed or any of the other rubbish people do to cats. It sort of made him the cat he was. One that stayed up all night, rooting and beating up other cats, by day when he could muster the strength in his geriatric years, went out and murdered lots of animals smaller than himself.
It was also quite traumatic once when I helped my uncle spay a neighbours cat that was probably older than Lews, owned by this lady who was in her 70s or so. Life was pretty simple on the farm, I stick the old ginger tabby in a gumboot head first, then hold him in there and out comes the pocket knife...
Except the tabby stopped breathing
We're in a panic by this stage because if the old lady finds out her cats dead, then she'll probably croak from a heart attack too! So with much revulsion, my uncle gave the cat mouth to mouth and sure as, the old ginger bastard fires up again and goes scampering inside the house.
Didn't really have the heart at the time to tell my uncle that the beast probably fainted, I just wanted to see if someone would CPR a cat like I saw at school in swim and survive classes.
I was a terrible child