My late cat Jones also had an udder, but that's because of the circumstances of my adopting him. He was part of a litter of four which was dumped off at a Goodwill truck north of Dallas (twenty years ago last Sunday, to be exact) in the middle of the night, and all four were about three weeks old at the time. Although the woman (based on the handwriting on the note left with the box) had left Purina Kitten Chow, these kittens were simply unable to handle solid food by themselves, and the largest kitten had decided that, since Jones was the only male, that he had the closest thing to a nipple among the bunch. She'd managed to distend him so much that my then-girlfriend and I weren't able to sex him for a week (we only managed to get her to quit suckling on him after rubbing petroleum jelly on his goolies), and he had an udder for the rest of his life. It wasn't much, just really a big flap of skin with just enough fat in it to make it swing back and forth, but it was big enough to knock his knees out from under him when he really tried to run. I won't even begin to describe the disgusting effect when he'd rear back on his haunches and the udder would seemingly flow across the floor like a fuzzy mound of marmalade.
Twenty years since I found him, and nearly six since he died, and there's still not a day that I don't miss that cat.
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Twenty years since I found him, and nearly six since he died, and there's still not a day that I don't miss that cat.
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