Fly-hunting and castrati

"It was a beautiful morning and I was doing one of my favourite things: fly-hunting! I am attracted to ANYthing that moves. Flies buzzing around are one of my prime targets. This one seemed to get trapped by the window all the time. Meanwhile, the Elegant Lady was sitting in her spot, scribbling on some paper, and the Gentle Man was tapping away on his computer. They were listening to the radio. The Elegant Lady likes classical music; she considers it soothing. Soothing. Right. This high-pitched, screechy and tinny, voice was going on-and-on in the background, going something like:

Pia-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-ah-AH-ah-AHah-AAAAAAHHH-NGOOOOOOOOO....
I really don't know about soothing... To me it sounded like whatever it is, is in pain.... The voice, if one can describe it as such, goes up and down, trilling irritably, just like a bird, then fading away. Meanwhile, I was doing my utmost to get that pesky fly. I was running, jumping, swatting, flying over the benches, the Elegant Lady: no obstacle is big enough (except walls, of course). I SO tried to concentrate. The fly was very fast. However, in the background this voice kept on going..


Il DO-lo-OOOHH-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-OH-OH-oh-oh-OOOOooooooooOOOooooo- re....
 
I NEARLY got the fly, several times in fact, but that howling was actually VERY distracting. So much pain and sorrow on my beautiful morning. Apparently, I was not the only one not liking it: the Gentle Man commented about this strange voice. The Lady explained that it is a male voice with some music from long ago. 'Male voice???' Off course. I understood! 'He's trying to get a mate!' 'Well, I'm sure I'll do MUCH better when my time comes.....'
(At least, that's what I thought at the time.)
'It is called a counter-tenor', continued the Lady. 'In the olden days when women were not allowed on stage, they castrated boys to keep their voice high.'

'Eh?' I found myself thinking. 'A man pretending to be a woman? That won't get him a mate. What is 'castrated' anyway?'
The Gentle Man took pity on them, sighing, 'Poor boys. No women for them.'

The fly was still buzzing around. I was trying to focus, and get back on the program. However, everything seemed to happen at once, like this: 

Run... focus....swat! 
ah-AH-  ah-AH-ah-AAAA, 
Fly buzzing; he escaped..
Gentle Man  was still talking in the background: 'they got castrated... 


ah-AH-ah-AAAA
...their balls got taken,

...focus on the fly...

oh-oh-OOOOoooooo
...just like our poor Mooch!!!'

..................................................................
'What?!?!?!?'
..................................................................
'I'm WHAT?!?!?'  'Castrated?!?!?' 'No females?' 'Impossible!'

This had stopped me dead in my tracks. Meanwhile the fly had found it's way to freedom through the front door. I just sat there, too stunned to react.  

'Me?' 'Castrated?' 'Without my balls?'
'I am a cat; which means perfection incarnate!'

Now I am sitting here. I lost my fly, my balls and my infallibility.
There's only one thing to do now in this time of extreme distress: clean my fur. Thoroughly. For the rest of the afternoon..."