I stressed about it all week. Every time I brought him his food, I scratched behind his ears, stroked the soft fur on his chest, and felt helplessly guilty. See, I was about to have my stray neutered by the Animal Coalition of Tampa and I was having doubts about my decision.

The handsome, shorthaired tom came with the house we bought in January. He was probably left behind by its previous owners, abandoned carelessly like the cabinet full of kitchenware or the tools in the backyard shed. He wasnâ€™t scared of my husband Phil and I. He prowled around our yard and slept on our porch like he belonged there, meowing at us plaintively and gazing at us with his big, heartmelting blue eyes until we fell in love and were forced to feed him and give him a name â€“ Rutherford the Brave, from a Phish song.

Soon enough, we were was also feeding the feral female heâ€™d impregnated, and then we were feeding Rutherford and the four blue-eyed kittens that turned up after their mom mysteriously disappeared. I was in cat heaven, but the honeymoon didnâ€™t last. The day before my wedding, I ran over and killed a kitten that was hiding underneath my car. Iâ€™ve run over two cats in my life, but I was never emotionally invested and the death hit me hard. It was then I decided that I had to do something.

The kittens vanished shortly after the incident â€“ I think one of the neighbors had them picked up â€“ so the only one left was Rutherford, he whoâ€™d actually started the whole cycle in the first place. When we were assigned the task of locating and reporting on local nonprofits for the upcoming holiday issue (which comes out this Wednesday), I immediately claimed two animal rescue groups: Pet Pal Rescue and Animal Coalition of Tampa. Both combat pet overpopulation, Pet Pal by rescuing sick, injured, or un-socialized animals â€“ those not suitable for adoption and more likely to be euthanized â€“ from local shelters and giving them a second chance, and ACT by offering low-coast spay/neuter services to the Bay area community.

After taking a tour of ACTâ€™s South Tampa clinic and talking with founder/executive director Linda Hamilton, I resolved to bring Rutherford into the clinic later that week to be neutered. Hamilton loaned me a cat carrier and I was set.

As the week went by, I wondered whether Rutherford could sense my apprehension. But he seemed oblivious. He smelled, then ignored the cat carrier, which Iâ€™d left on the porch the three days leading up to his fateful neuter visit so he would get used to it. Thursday morning, while I was petting him and he was purring away, I persuaded him to go into the carrier with a tiny taste of food. After a frantic struggle, I got him into the carrier and sped off to the clinic, crying all the way and singing â€œThree Little Birdsâ€ to calm myself down.

He was not happy. He yowled, pawed at the door and tried to get out. I felt horrible, like Iâ€™d taken advantage of the trust Iâ€™d built up with him. I was worried that heâ€™d hate me forever because he knew I was taking away his manhood. His mournful meows didnâ€™t make me feel any better.

Rutherford got extremely quiet once we arrived at the clinic, as if resigned to his fate. But everyone at the clinic was exceedingly nice. Linda greeted me at the door and reassured me that my anxiety was normal. The vet tech took his information and then, I left my cat for an overnight stay.

Rutherford was obviously grumpy when I picked him up. He fell into a drugged sleep on the drive home, but woke up as soon as I pulled up to the house and turned off the car. He started meowing when I took the carrier out of the box and brought him back to the porch, the scene of the crime. Phil went and got some food. By then, Rutherford was meowing more frantically, as if he saw that he was home and was eager to get out of the carrier. I opened the door and Rutherford came creeping out, looking around in what I interpreted was relief. We brought him food and he pigged out like he hadnâ€™t eaten in days, even though I knew heâ€™d been fed at the clinic. When he was done, he approached me with his usual grateful purr, and I rubbed his favorite spots, and everything was all right again.