Flannery went in to get declawed today.
(Front paws only.)
When I put her in her plastic carrier to drive her to the clinic, oh lord, she meowed herself hoarse. Maybe she thought I was driving her back to Montana, since that's the last time she laid eyes on the cursed box of doom (as I imagine she thinks of it).
(Although chances are she'd prefer another 20+ hour drive to Montana to the declawing.)
Generally, I'm against declawing cats. After all, cats don't scratch out of vindictiveness (uh, usually, haha), they do it out of instinct. It seems like a lot of pain to put an animal through for the sake of humans' convenience.
However, over the past few months, Flannery's uncontrollable desire to leap at moths by the window screens combined with her burning desire to plunge her sharp little digits into the wood paneling in my parents' living room have made this a necessary evil.
Flannery's an indoor cat, so in her case she doesn't really need her claws for self-defense (unless you count Toivo as a predator, which I don't, because the only thing that dolt can stalk successfully is his food bowl). What's more, she's most likely going to be living indoors inside of other people's houses/apartments for the rest of her days. If it were just a matter of my stuff getting clawed up, I wouldn't have gone this route. But when other people's walls/furniture/window coverings are paying the price, sometimes you've got to weigh out which is the lesser of two evils.
Declawing seemed to me to be lesser than eviction.
Upon returning home tomorrow, Flannery shall be receiving the utmost in follow-up care, including many delicious Pounce treats, a new catnip toy, and a new collar (with skull-and-crossbones all over it, arr!).
And, to top it all off, I'll be letting her leap at moths on the screens to her heart's content from now on. :+)