Shaved Pussies
by
November 14, 2005
OK, this is starting to scare
me. I’m turning into a cliché -
professional single woman with two cats and a freezer full of Lean
Cuisine.
I’m considered a marvel at work
because I regularly get to the office at 4:45 a.m. My co-workers believe me to be sickeningly
devoted to my job (and I am) but going to these levels is not so much an
indication of my dedication as it is a sign of my pathetic lack of a life. I’m an insomniac anyway and since the only
male mammal I’ve slept with in about a million years is a cat, there seems to
be no point to lingering under the duvet.
I had to go to another city
recently because they were short-staffed but before I left,
I had to take Ivan and Annie to the groomer.
I’ve mentioned how furry they both are and despite the fact that it is
fundamentally ridiculous to have cats shaved, that is indeed what I did. The
fur around the place was unbelievable and since I’m no
Martha Stewart, it was either shave the cats or mow the hardwood.
I was using a new groomer this
time and at first glance, she’d done a good job.
Imagine two majestic, proud
animals with normally glossy and flowing fur reduced to skinned rat clones with
big heads and murder in their eyes. This
time, when I went to pick them up, the woman who’d done the grooming said that
she had cut Ivan "slightly" but that it was nothing to worry about.
I caught a glimpse of the wound a
few hours later. "Slightly"
turned out to be a gash that took 4 staples to close, and one that my vet
likened to being stabbed very deeply.
I was incensed (and of course, I am suing the arse off them).
The trouble was, I picked them up
the day before I had to leave and in addition to having staples, Ivan was also
prescribed antibiotics that were supposed to be given orally once a day. Luckily, I have a friend in the building who
foolishly agreed to undertake this thankless task so off I went, worrying all
the way. I decided not to put the space
kitty cone on his head - I knew it would drive him insane.
Have you ever tried to give a cat
a pill? With dogs, it’s easy - you just
stick it under another dog’s tail. Cats
are different. Hissing, yowling and
bloodletting are common, as is the surreptitious regurgitating of the pill in
inconvenient locations.
I worried all week and when I
arrived home, it was to two bald, shivering creatures who
plainly were in no mood to forgive this latest indignity. I also discovered that Ivan had picked all
the staples out with his teeth. Really,
I should have expected no less. I was a
bit apprehensive, knowing that there was no way that
he was going to let me get away with (a) taking him the groomer in the first
place; (b) then to the vet; and (c) leaving them alone for a week.
Sure enough, I discovered the
next morning as I was rushing out the door to work that somebody had taken a
shit in my brand new shoes - several of them, actually, if tactile sensation
was anything to go by - squishy as I slid my foot in and then something
rock-like in the toe. The really disturbing
part was that it was still warm.
Needless to say, the little
bastard was nowhere to be found. As I
peeled off my soiled pantyhose and washed my feet (cursing up a storm all the
while), I decided that we were even and that I would take no retaliatory
action. I always lose. That cat’s pretty fiendish and it’s beginning
to worry me that I seem to be utterly unable to outwit him.
But you know what the most ironic
thing is?
Even with two shaved
pussies, I can’t get a date.
Till next time,
Morrigan
|
