Sonny

In the early 1970s, I was a student majoring in architecture at UICC (the University of Illinois Circle Campus as it was called then). During my second year, I got a job cleaning animal cages (which contained hundreds to thousands of mostly rats, mice and guinea pigs but also many cats, dogs, primates, etc.) at the Medical Research Laboratory of the University of Illinois Medical Center Campus which was slightly less than a mile away. The job allowed me to obtain a room in the only university dormitory at that time. Eventually, my employment at the Laboratory also made me eligible for a small apartment in a different building which was usually reserved for medical students and personnel. It was my very first apartment which was known as an "efficiency".

The apartment had one main room, a small kitchen and a bathroom. It was partially furnished with two small couches that became beds. I scraped together some additions: a small, orange area rug; two plastic tables; a small, desk with oak veneer from my family's apartment that was once used by my father and later by my mother; wall decorations also from my mother; and an inexpensive, framed modern art painting. My sister gave me a stereo record player with a radio that she didn't want anymore. The final piece was a small, 12-inch black and white TV that I had purchased not long before.

The apartment solidified my entry into adulthood. I would come home from school or work and cook for myself. I could have friends over, which mostly consisted of my best friend from high school who was also a student majoring in business at the university.

At one point, I brought home a cat from the Medical Research Laboratory. He was my first (and only) real pet and I named him Sonny. He was surplus and might otherwise have been put to sleep. Before they let me have him, they told me that they would neuter Sonny which would be better for his health and prevent his urine from having a strong odor. I was curious about exactly what occurred when animals were neutered and I asked the female doctor, with whom I had a good relationship, if I could be present in the operating room. I was granted my request.

I watched as Sonny was given anesthesia which knocked him out completely. Then I witnessed the preparation (shaving and cleaning) and cutting of his scrotum, followed by the removal of his testicles and the snipping of related cords. His scrotal sack was then sewn back and Sonny was brought back to his cage. I was quiet throughout the event. It was all so simple and quick, yet it was very unappealing in the end. Over the next few days I could see Sonny looking repeatedly at his scrotum as though something was very wrong or missing. In retrospect, he must have also felt considerable pain and discomfort which might have lingered for days. I don't know if they ever gave him any pain medication after the operation. But as a male, I never forgot the procedure in the operating room. I don't think I would ever want to see a male animal neutered again if the decision was mine alone. The whole matter was just too close to home.

I had other memorable times with Sonny when was training him how to use the litter box in the bathroom. He used it properly when he was left alone in the apartment and I thought all was going well, but one day he decided that the orange rug was a much nicer place to defecate and urinate. I came home and saw the evidence on my little area rug and I was beyond annoyed. I decided to teach Sonny the difference.

He knew I was upset and he ran behind a couch in order to hide, which was impossible in my small apartment. I picked him up by the fur on the back of his neck and took him and some of his refuse to the litter box. I told him in soothing tones that this was a "good" and I petted him warmly. Then I brought him back to the rug and shoved his face very close to the rest of his mess. I said in stern, very angry tones "bad cat!" while I was rough with him. I repeated the good-bad cat lesson many times until I was sure Sonny understood what I wanted. Then I let him go. He stayed out of my way for a long while but he never made a mess on the rug again and he always used the litter box after that day.

Eventually, my problems financing college became so severe that I had to drop classes and work more to afford the remaining classes. It was a spiral that ultimately led to my leaving school and my job at the lab during the following year, which meant I had to give up my apartment. I had to return Sonny to the lab. I don't know what happened to him but hopefully they let him live out his life in a positive way or placed him in another home.