We got a cat, but she was broken.
We got her last summer, from a shelter. She was a young, playful kitty who emerged from her cat carrier and immediately clawed the carpet. She previously had been named "Puma," but we thought that was a dumb name and rechristened her "Kiki." She was a feisty cat. We called her "Fight Cat."
A person at the shelter said that someone had previously adopted her but then returned her because she was "acting weird."
She seemed fine to us, at least for a while.
Then she started mewing a lot. She started rubbing a lot. She demanded to be picked up and carried around a lot. We called her "Love Cat."
She ran from window to window, howling at invisible beings outside, a lot.
She wasn't acting weird, she was in heat.
This was odd, because she had been spayed. The adoption fee included payment for the spaying, and the surgical scar on her belly was clear to see. Uh oh, they missed something.
"That rarely ever happens," said the vet.
"Well it did. You might have missed a bit," I said. They took a blood sample. Yup, high estrogen.
"We can operate again."
We hesitated. We did not want our cat sliced open again, and she had gone out of heat. She was back to "Fight Cat."
Over the next few months, she cycled between Fight Cat and Love Cat about every three weeks.
Then the days began lengthening, and it was more Love than Fight, which sounds okay except that the "lovin" started including all-night howling, which sounded terrifyingly like a woman screaming "Oh-noooooo!" twenty times in a row, and it also included spraying, peeing all over the place, mostly near windows and doorways. She seemed desperately unhappy.
We took her back to the vet and they did "exploratory" surgery. A small amount of ovarian tissue was found attached to the omentum. Apparently it had been left behind in the abdominal cavity after the initial spaying, had found a new home and kept doing what it was programmed to do.
So Kiki the kitty now has a shaved belly and a fresh scar.
We have a cat, and now she's fixed.