The answer was a lemon - a Catholic lemon

Luky;
HOPING for a giggle, I asked the woman at the SPCA whether it's permissible for a Catholic cat to be spayed.
My joke fell flat.
Remember the Mrs Jones I told you about - the one who was going to call her son Referendum?
Well, I failed to add that she later became a Catholic, and joined her husband and children who already were Catholics.
I never saw such a joy in anyone, unless it was in Jenna, our housekeeper, who was married and received into the Church one Christmas.
Both Mrs Jones and Jenna had this in common: for at least two weeks both walked around in a haze of sheer joy, looking beautiful and smiling all the while.

Fruitful
Mrs Jones' ready wit did not suffer for long, I'm happy to say.
Visiting her sister to bring her a basket of lemons, she flinched when she was told off.
"Thanks for the lemons, but what's this I hear about your becoming a Catholic?
For shame, a staunch non-denominational like yourself!
Mommy and Daddy must be turning in their graves."

The sermon went on for another few minutes.
Then Mrs Jones got annoyed and looked at her watch.
"How time does run on", she said.
"I must be going now.
Can I have my basket, please - and are you sure you want these Catholic lemons?"

The Catholic cat I mentioned was a lovely white stray who was lost in the local convent grounds.
She went along to the pupils and their parents, rubbing her head against their legs.
"Mommy, please," my daughters pleaded when I came to fetch them, "can't we take the kitty home?
She doesn't belong here. We asked the man who's been working here since the school started, and he's sure she's a stray."

Time to claim
I'm not mad about cats.
"Let's take her to the SPCA instead", I suggested.
"Maybe there's a child crying her eyes out for her pet."
At the SPCA a woman took charge of the cat and promised to give her all the injections.
"Then, if nobody claims her, I'll contact you in three weeks' time."

Three weeks seemed a long time for the child to claim her pet, so I drove off confidently.
"People don't come back for cats - only dogs", the SPCA woman said three weeks later when she contacted me.
"Your cat has had all the injections, and you can come for her next Monday.
That will be eleven rand and fifty cents, please."

In for a penny, in for a pound.
"Why can't I fetch her today?"
"We're having her spayed first."
It was then that I made my corny crack.

Surprise!
It was quite a reception party which accompanied my husband to the SPCA the next Monday, while I stayed home and sulked.
We had so many birds in the garden, and I knew what would happen to them once we left a cat on the premises.
When the car stopped, the children came hurtling in to my room.
"Guess what happened, Mommy?
We couldn't get the cat today.
This morning she had four lovely kitties.
She'll have to feed them for six weeks, and then we can go back and fetch her."

My husband explained;
"How do you like that, Ma?
The doctor was going to spay the cat, but when he examined her he found she was going to have kittens, so that was the end of that.
"The SPCA woman said she was obviously abandoned because her owners knew she was expecting, but she has already found homes for three of the kittens."

My Catholic cat had had the last meow.